Night, The dark blue hunter
by canaryali
Summary: Title is from a quote "Twilight, a timid fawn, went glimmering by. And Night, the dark blue hunter, followed fast." Shawn is living with Chet again but a figure from his past appears and makes life more complicated than ever.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own these characters I  
just put my story on their heads.**

It had been three months since Shawn had left Mr Turner's place to go back to his Dad, to go back to the trailer park. To go back and try and discover what it was like to have his Dad, his actual real Dad, about in his life.

And for the first month it hadn't been all bad. They had arguments and stepped around each other like two tom cats on a street corner, but Chet tried. And Shawn really tried. He didn't want to get left again. He didn't want the embarrassment of having to say he'd screwed up, again, and made Chet leave, again.

Cory, as usual, was the first to notice something a little awry with his best friend. But even his judgment was cloudy. Having just got back with Topanga he was doing what any 15 year old would do. Being her boyfriend, making out, doing homework assignments with her and enjoying the sweet feeling of being in love, together again. Having Shawn doze off in class was nothing new. Have Shawn late for occasional classes… that too was nothing new. But slowly being late turned into skipping classes, which slowly turned into skipping days.

Cory asked, finally realizing his best friend had cut two days of school for two weeks running, and had missed more classes than Cory had excuses for. "Every OK my Shawnie?"

Shawn looked up from his locker. "Everything is fine. I'm fine Cory." Same refrain, repeated enough, until he could make it sound like he was. Each day he pulled on one of his many masks and pretended all was fine, that he wasn't lost, a complete screw up. That he didn't spend so much time every day just pretending to be a real person, a normal person, that he was exhausted.

Cory had his worried face on. "Its just I've not had much time to catch up with you, and you didn't answer when I tried to call you yesterday to see why you weren't in."

Shawn turned away to put his books in his locker. It gave him a precious few seconds to compose his thoughts. He didn't want to lie, not to his best friend, but he couldn't tell him the truth. He put an arm around Cory's shoulder and gave him his biggest grin. "Well hey… you know that cute blonde from homeroom…" Cory rolled his eyes, grinning back.

" I knew it had to be a girl. You dog Shawn! Spill the beans."

Behind the mask the lies came easily. Keeping the mask on though, that was getting harder. More so in front of the people he both cared about and was scared of disappointing, again.

– – – –

_He knew, knew as soon as he opened the trailer door. The sour smell of whiskey and vomit. He stopped without entering, head down. What could he have done so wrong to make his Dad start drinking again? Was he such a bad person, such a total screw up that this was the only way his Dad could stand being around him?_

_The occasional beer, the odd lapse into old ways, slowly increasing until it was becoming more expected each day. And each time he tried to be good, tried to stay out of the way, but more and more his missing school was coinciding with his Dad's drinking days. The nights when he didn't keep out of the way and his life got a bit… complicated. Without a job, spending money on alcohol, there was never food in the house, no clean clothes, no routine… And his Dad, drinking, didn't really notice what was going on._

_He peered cautiously around the door, heard snoring, and crept in. If he got to his room, he could get changed, head over to Cory's. Mrs Matthews would insist he stayed for tea and he could be... he could be a normal kid, for a bit._

_In the gloom he stepped over his Dad's prone snoring figure. In his concentration to not wake Chet he missed the shadowed figure leaning against the bathroom door. "Hey Runtboy. Tsk Tsk. What did I tell you this morning? What was the one, tiny little thing I told you you had to do? You were supposed to clean up the shower before you left. And yet... I come home and his puke is still in it. You're a waste of space Runtboy."_

"_Eddie…" He could tell by that softly admonishing tone that this wasn't going to be a good evening, and bolted for his bedroom. The lock gave way after two blows, the door crashing against the thin wall leaving another mark on the grimy paper. _

_He begged, he pleaded. He apologized and promised not to screw up. He curled his body into as small a space as possible and took the kick to his side. When rough hands grabbed his hair forcing him to look up he took the slap. And when he was thrown against the wall, he took the slam to his head too. But he would not cry… crying made it worse. And he had done wrong, hadn't he. He had to take his punishment like a man. Like a Hunter…_

–_ – – – _

"And so, by reading the poem aloud, you can hear the rhythm, you can feel the words. And Mr Matthews, it does not have to actually rhyme!" Jonathan Turner grinned as he caught Cory's eye.

"But they're the funniest ones!" Cory shot back.

"Poems do not have to be funny either Matthews. This you will find out for yourselves with tonight's homework – writing a poem about your day. That does not rhyme!"

As the class groaned in unison a slight movement at the back of the class caught Turner's eye. A black leather clad arm slipping off the side of a desk to dangle limply. Turner inwardly sighed. Hunter, dozing off in class, again. No, he corrected, as he strode past Topanga and Cory's desks. Not dozing. So deeply asleep his usual instincts to detect a teacher's presence failed him. Turner slammed the paperback he was holding hard on the desk next to Shawn's head.

_SLAM!_

"_Nnngh!_" Shawn made an incoherent startled noise and launched himself sideways from his seat. He stumbled but caught himself and straightened up, blinking. He hadn't been in the trailer, he'd been sleeping, he was fine, he was in class..

Shawn pushed both hands through his hair, giving a lopsided smile at Turner as he brought his hands down. "Jeez, Mr Turner, why not just set an alarm clock next time huh?"

Turner regarded the boy he had almost, _almost_, took in permanently. For one brief moment he had seen Shawn without any of the barriers he put up and the only word that came into his mind was _terror_. It was gone so fast he wasn't entirely sure he had seen it. That all too familiar, fingers through the hair gesture was a habit Shawn probably wasn't aware he had and Turner knew he did it to shield himself for a few seconds. Those blue, puppy eyes could be nakedly revealing otherwise.

"Why not just try and stay awake and listen next time? he countered.

Shawn glanced upwards into the face of his teacher, _innocent face_, and thrust his hands into his jacket pockets. Turner knew that little habit too. Shawn's hand could betray him easily. When animated and talking they flew around him, when he was upset they tried to retreat into the sleeves of his over-shirt but the fingers would creep out and scrabble and squeeze on his cuffs.

"I was listening. Honest." He tried a smile.

It was hard not to believe. Turner smiled back. "Okay then. What is the homework for tonight?"

Behind Turner's back Cory and Topanga exchanged a quick glance and with some form of couples telepathy both scribbled quickly. They simultaneously held up a piece of paper each.

Shawn's eyes barely flickered off Turner's face. He was good at this. "Homework um... write a poem about today. No rhyming."

"Impressive Mr Hunter. Sit down." Turner gave a slight smile. "And DO the homework. I'll know if you get Cory to do it okay?"

"Yeah." Shawn replied, grinning wider. "It would be a really bad limerick about Topanga."

Turner returned to the front of the class and Cory turned to his best friend. "You were lucky Shawnie, minute more you'd have probably started snoring."

Shawn lent back with a smirk which dropped the moment Cory turned to face front again. Another moment more and he'd have woken himself up screaming NOOOO. And that, in class with Mr Turner, would not be cool. Not cool at all.

\- – – –

When the final bell rung Shawn made sure he was out of the door and lost in the throng of students before Cory could leave his seat or Turner call for him to stay behind for 'a chat'. He didn't feel like chatting to anyone. It was hard enough during school hours to keep up the act, he just wanted to get away from everyone for a few hours and lose himself. Walk around aimlessly, not having to hide or to think about what you were going to say, how to say it, how to make your face perform.

His feet took him on a circuitous route but still he found himself outside the Pink Flamingo trailer park anyway. Where else did he have to go? This was still his home, of sorts. He trailed slowly over the hard packed dirt, deep in thought.

It hadn't been so bad, not to start with. His Dad had played cards with him, taught him poker. They'd watch cartoons together and he would ask about school. And Shawn would ask him about working at the bus station.

But then he'd lost his job.

And then he started drinking.

And then... Eddie came back.

Eddie made an almost tolerable situation into a nightmare.

The drinking got worse. They had no money to pay bills so the TV and 'phones were cut off. Sometimes there was no money for the meter and the lights would go out and the only showers would be cold ones.

And Eddie really hated the half brother he called Runtboy.

– – – –

Shawn had no idea when he went home 6 weeks ago that everything he thought he knew was going to change that evening. He went into the trailer, throwing his bag beside the couch and glad to see his Dad sitting at their tiny, chipped dining table reading a paper. "Hey."

"Hey yourself Slimjim." Chet glanced across at his son and vowed to try and be a better father. He knew he made that vow most days, but maybe if he kept making it, he'd maybe keep it one day. "We got ourselves some family reunion here."

"Huh?" Shawn, halfway through taking off his leather jacket, paused. "Mom's come back?"

"Nooooo Runtboy," a horribly familiar voice drawled. "I got myself released from prison."

Eddie stepped from the bedroom and stood in the middle of the room, between Chet and Shawn. At 22 he looked very little like Shawn... and very much like Chet. He had Chet's big build but on Eddie it was muscle honed in a prison gym for 2 years. He had none of the delicacy of Shawn's features, but the square-jawed, hardened face was straight from Chet too. Blue eyes, that was the only feature he and Shawn shared. But whilst on Shawn they could be windows into his thoughts, on Eddie they were frozen, icy. And now they bore into Shawn in a gaze he knew well. A permanent anger burned in the ice that one little thing could spark into seething rage.

"Thought you had me locked up for good did'ya?" he sneered. "Seems you couldn't get that right either. But then you are the runt of the family."

Chet coughed. "Hey Eddie, Shawn's a good kid. Mostly."

That hurt. Shawn dropped his head, unable to look at his Dad. Mostly. Yeah, thanks for the enthusiasm. "So... um... where you staying Eddie, at the trailer park.. or?" He trailed off as the older brother laughed.

"Oh I'm staying right. Here." He moved across the room and grabbed Shawn's chin, squeezing hard. "Didn't think you'd be here. Thought you'd gone all uppity on your family, thinking you're better than the rest of us, just 'cos you get to hang out with the rich folks." He let go of Shawn and glanced back at Chet. "I may not be here much in the evenings anyway, night is when I keep my business hours."

He looked back at Shawn. "But when I am here, that bed is mine. And if that means you sleep on the couch, you deal with that. Or run back to your posh friend. Be the pity case, be the scrounging little runt you are."

"Hey that's not fair!" Shawn blurted the words without thinking. "That's MY room. That's MY bed. You don't get to just..."

He didn't see the fist. There was just a sudden enormous pain on the side of his head that made him reel backwards.

Eddie lifted Shawn with ease and threw him onto the couch. He leaned into the now frightened face. "Oh I do. I do. And if you forget to behave, to keep your mouth shut, or anything, this is what you get." He punched Shawn hard, once, in the stomach, making the smaller boy groan and curl over on his side. "You gonna cry runt? You're weak. You're nothing. You can't even take a hit like a man. Hunters. Do. Not. Rat. Hunters. Do. Not. Cry."

As he said the last eight words he punched Shawn in the back. Lesson over he straightened up and looked down at the shivering body scrunched into the corner of the couch. "Pathetic. I 'm going out now, which will give you time to stop sniveling and clean up in here."

As the door slammed shut Shawn opened his eyes and very slowly uncurled, wincing at the ache in his back with each movement. He stood up, looking for his father. Why would he go, leave Eddie to do that, without trying to stop him, without saying a word? Shawn answered his own question. Because I am useless.

Chet came out of his room, avoiding looking at Shawn. "Um...Shawnie... I'm going out for a while. Try and... try and be a good kid and, y'know, tidy up a bit. Maybe I let you get away with too much lately."

As his father walked past he still refused to look at Shawn. Shawn could his eyes hot with unshed tears. "Dad..." his voice wobbled in a way he hated. _Weak...pathetic_.

Chet left the trailer without a word. Shawn knew he'd no doubt stagger in later, drunk. And be able to convince himself that everything was fine.

Shawn's legs gave away and he sat down hard on the couch behind him. Everything had changed. How had everything changed so fast? He hadn't believed in monsters under the bed as a child. He never had to. His monsters had been and one would be now sleeping _in_ his bed. Alone, and feeling more alone than ever, Shawn pressed his face into the nearest frayed old cushion, not noticing the stale smell of cigarette smoke than clung to the fabric, and sobbed. He couldn't tell anyone about this. He just couldn't.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer. I still own no characters from boy meets world. They read my words only.**

Chapter Two

"Final bell Mister Matthews." Feeney raised one eyebrow and looked askance at Cory as he made a play of putting things away in his locker. "No Mister Hunter again?"

"Um. No." Cory turned around, trying not to show the worry he felt. "I spoke to him at the weekend though, and he was _really_ fluey. Like just coughing and y'know.." He mimed blowing his nose.

"Hmmm." Feeney had heard a variety of excuses over the past few weeks. And none of them exactly rang true. "Funny that Mister Matthews. I tried to call Shawn yesterday, and earlier today, to find out if he was okay and why he wasn't in Monday and why he hasn't shown up today either. I wasn't able to call Shawn though. Any idea why that would be Mister Matthews?"

Cory hated lying to Feeney, after all he could be a bit crusty but he was their neighbor and he knew Feeney did care about what happened to Shawn. Even if Shawn didn't realize that. "Oh well," he started breezily, "you know what Shawn's Dad is like. He's not always so good at remembering to pay bills so they probably got cut off." He hesitated. "Guess I was just lucky enough to get my call in before their line was cut. And you know Shawn's Dad probably wouldn't think to call the school from any place else... it wouldn't occur to him."

At least that part wasn't a lie. Cory wondered what else wouldn't occur to the unreliable Chet Hunter. Would it occur to him that teenage boys needed food?

Feeney gave Cory a long, long stare. "Very well Mister Matthews. But if Shawn does not attend classes tomorrow, I will have to visit his father and speak to him for myself."

Cory nodded, and followed Feeney into class. As he took his seat Topanga turned and raised her eyebrows in the unspoken question she knew had been bugging her boyfriend all weekend. Cory shook his head and she turned away, frowning.

Cory wasn't listening to Mr Feeney's lesson, he just sat, his face creased in lines of worry. Just where the hell was Shawn? The last time he'd seen him Shawn had climbed in through his bedroom window, as usual, giving him a that big smile, as usual.

"Cory!"

"Shawnie"

But he'd been full of nervous energy and couldn't sit to concentrate on anything. Instead he roamed about the bedroom restlessly, picking things up randomly, suddenly throwing himself onto the bed than minutes later on the move again. It was like trying to sit with a caged wolf. Eventually Cory had to say something.

"Shawn, will you just sit down for five minutes in one place!" Shawn stopped, gave Cory a wary look, then dropped theatrically to the floor with a grin. Sitting on the floor he lent back on his hands and looked up.

"Jeez Cory. No need to yell." He stared away from the searching look on his friend's face and watched the screen saver picture on Cory's laptop scroll from one photo to another. He grinned. "Got enough pictures of Topanga on there Cor?"

"No man can ever have enough pictures of Topanga." Cory replied solemnly, and was pleased to hear a genuine bark of laughter. He realized he hadn't heard that sound for several weeks too. He knew something had to be going on, but he also knew trying to get Shawn to open up to anything problematic in his life was the equivalent to a safe cracker getting into a bank vault. One mistake and BAM. Alarms ringing, and disappearing out of the window.

He would try anyway. He always tried. It was what best friends did. "How's it going with your Dad now Shawn?"

People always had to keep asking questions, all the time. Shawn knew Cory meant well but he didn't want to talk about it, any of it. If he talked about it he would no longer be able to pretend for at least some of the time that he had a normal life, with normal parents and a normal family. Like Cory had. He knew he had to take his time before he let any words out in case he betrayed the careful barriers he had erected. He slowly raised his knees and folded his arms over them. Relaxed. He told himself. Look relaxed. Everything is fine.

He cocked his head to the side slightly so he was only looking at Cory from one eye. "Its going fine. Everything is fine with me and my old man." Not enough. More details. "You know, its not been easy, we do rub each other up the wrong way from time to time. And its not been great since he lost his job. But we're getting along and if we don't have a TV anymore, well, its given us more time to like, sit and talk."

Sit and talk. Some joke. There was barely any talking going on in the Hunter trailer. There was a lot of yelling. And sometimes a whole lot of silence where he felt like a ghost haunting the gloom, waiting on edge for the next bout of yelling.

Cory would have believed the story. He wanted to and almost did. But he knew Shawn better than anyone. And his eyes strayed to Shawn's fingers, those gesturing, picture building, betraying fingers. Which all the time Shawn talked clenched and knotted in the baggy flannel shirt. "Shawn..." he said softly.

Both blue eyes sharply glanced at him then flicked away. Barely enough time to register what he saw when his Mom broke the moment to yell up the stairs that tea was ready and if Shawn was up there he might as well come have some too.

Shawn bounded out of the room and Cory could hear him doing his Shawn the clown act with his Mom and Megan. Cory followed although somewhat slower. He knew what he'd seen in that quick glance after all. Fear. And Cory had_ never_ seen the Shawn Hunter he knew show fear like that before.

– – – –

It was impossible to talk to Shawn after tea. He had a feeling Shawn was deliberately sticking about the kitchen knowing whilst his Mom was washing up, Cory wouldn't ask anything more. He decided to opt for safer topics.

"You done Mr Turner's homework yet Shawn?" He grinned slightly at the baffled look. "The homework? Write a boring poem about something you experienced?"

"Oh. That." Shawn perched on the counter top. "Um, no."

Amy turned from her washing up and looked at her son's friend. More than her son's friend, he was almost their son too, the time he'd spent here. "Well, as you're both here maybe you should both actually _do_ your homework." She smiled. "I mean, think what a treat that would be for Jonathan!" She ruffled Cory's head and laughed as he moaned about her soapy hands. Something was bothering Cory, and usually if something bothered Cory that he couldn't straight come out and say it involved Shawn. She stole a look at him as she moved about the kitchen, putting plates and cups away. Over the meal he had seemed, well, just like Shawn. But now he was still and not shoveling food into him like a condemned man at his last meal, she wondered to herself just how good Chet was a maintaining a proper home life for this boy.

The clothes he wore, looked like he'd slept in them, more than once. He looked pale, which only made the shadows under his eye stand out more. Looking at him properly, as a mother, she could also see his clothes hung on him a little baggier than normal. And he hadn't had any spare weight on him to start with. Where Cory had shot up and broadened about the shoulders, Shawn was much more slightly built and lean.

She went over and put her arm around his shoulder, hating the way he always tensed up when anyone tried to show him they cared. "There, you don't get off not having soapy Mom hands on you either." She took her hand away. "Say Shawn, if you want, you can stay the night you know that don't you? In case this poem homework takes longer for you boys to... figure out. Its getting kind of late anyway."

Shawn spun his head and looked at the cloak behind him. _Shhhiit._ 9.30pm. He hadn't been home yet. If Eddie got home before Shawn and noticed he'd accidentally broken the visor on his bike helmet he was going to be dead. He had just turned and knocked it off the counter, just a stupid, stupid accident. He had to get out of here, and he had to go now.

"I gotta go." he said hurriedly, grabbing his leather jacket. He ran out of the kitchen like a pack of demons were after him. Only Shawn knew he was probably running _to_ his pack of demons.

Cory anticipated his Mom's question. "I don't know Mom. I can't tell you anything because I don't know." He lowered his head to the blank page in front of him and started to write.

_The wolf walks amongst us, a shadow, a black shape_

_It treads warily, not wanting us to see him_

_It watches us instead, eyes hidden in twin caves._

_Wolves don't care to be caged or to be petted_

_They just want to be a wolf, howling at the moon _

_Trying to stay free, the wolf runs, and runs away._

It wasn't long, and it wasn't good. But Mr Matthews couldn't complain that he'd made it rhyme, or funny.

– – – -

Panting heavily Shawn skidded to an abrupt halt, clinging onto the side of the Pink Flamingo sign. He ran until it was no longer just the bruised parts of him that ached, he was just one big ache. The trailer lights were on. They didn't have any power this morning when he left, which is how he came to knock the motorcycle helmet off the counter. If they had power someone had paid a bill. A tenuous hopeful thought... maybe his Dad had gotten another job. Which would be a good thing? Shawn trembled. Not a good thing. If he had a job it always meant he'd leave, and leave him with Eddie.

Eddie. If the lights were on, Eddie would find the helmet right away, and see the damage done. Shawn groaned and slipped between the shadows to get closer to the trailer to try and see if Eddie was in there. He knew how to be invisible when he had to.

Sidling from behind the broken down Chevy that had been rusting away ever since Shawn could remember, he crept to the trailer, heart pounding. He couldn't hear yelling, which was good. Unless Eddie was sitting there, just waiting for him...

As usual all the curtains were drawn. NOBODY NEEDS TO BE SEEING OUR PRIVATE BUSINESS SHAWN his Dad yelled in his head. He risked standing up to peek through the frayed hole at the bottom of the curtain. Nobody. He felt himself sag with the relief that for a moment he could maybe get out of this mess. Grab a few things, head out. He could always find some place to sleep down the park. Or sneak in Cory's window which he knew would be left open for him, just in case. No. he stopped that thought. What if Eddie turned up at the Matthews in a rage? No, staying on his own was safer for everyone else.

He slowly, carefully opened the trailer door, slipped in and very gently closed it behind him. Nerves on edge he opened his, Eddies, bedroom door. Nothing. He let out a huge breath, not even aware he'd been holding it since he walked in the trailer.

He spun, startled, as the door was thrown open. "Well HELLOOOOO Runtboy!" Suddenly cold Shawn was unable to move, seeing his half brother filling the doorway.

Eddie lent against the door frame. "You really are a sneaky little runt aren't you?" The tone was almost conversational but Shawn barely dared to breathe, let alone say anything. He knew that crazy light in Eddie's eyes. "You're an idiot. A stupid fucking idiot. Think when I came home and saw what you did, I'd not wait until you got inside? Think I don't know you Runt? I was watching you from the moment you came in the park. What did you think you were, some kinda ninja?"

Eddie laughed harshly then abruptly closed the door behind him. As he slowly walked towards Shawn, grinning, Shawn backed off, knowing it was pointless. There was nowhere to run but he tried to delay the beating as long as he could. "Where's Dad?" he whispered.

"Out with his drinking buddies." Eddie sneered. He tired of playing cat and mouse across the room and grabbed Shawn by the arm, pulling him towards the kitchen counter. The motor cycle helmet sat there, the glaring triangular hole in the visor an accusation. He twisted Shawn's arm up behind his back until he heard the other gasp. With his free hand he grabbed a handful of Shawn's hair. "Now see what you did here Runt? Do you see?"

Shawn nodded, "I'm sorry... I'm really sorry. I didn't..."

He didn't finish the sentence as Eddie smashed his head against the counter and held him there. "I don't think you do see." He angled Shawn's face so he was staring at the helmet. "And I can make you see without marking that shifty face of yours so no one has to stick their nose in our business." He lifted Shawn's head and repeatedly smashed it against the counter top with each word. "I don't think you see at all. This was mine. And you broke it. And then you were going to sneak away, without facing up to it."

He pulled Shawn upright and looked at the side of his head. Blood dripped steadily where the edge of the counter of cut above Shawn's ear. "See, no one will see that under your hair." He sounded almost proud of his ability to hurt his half-brother.

Shawn allowed himself to be propelled back across the room, his legs rubbery. The left side of his head felt too big, each step brought a new wave of throbbing. He could taste blood from his split lip and tried once more. "Please..." The word wouldn't form through his now swelling lower lip.

Eddie pushed him to the floor, disgusted. "Begging? Begging? I'll give you something to beg for." He found what he wanted and from where it was propped against the wall with the rest of Shawn's few belongings, he picked up Shawn's skateboard. He lent over and poked Shawn in the chest with it. "Now this, see, this is yours. Maybe i should break this?"

Shawn was too dizzy to stand, to run. He began to crawl for the door, head down, just trying to make it the few feet he needed. A spattering crimson trail marks his slow progress.

Eddie watches him grinning, letting Shawn think maybe that was it. He looks at the skateboard and then down at the crawling boy. His eyes glitter. Grinning wider he swings the board, whacking it against Shawn's buttocks. Even through his jeans its agony. He quits crawling and is unable to stop himself sprawling across the carpet. His outstretched fingers lie on the sheet of muddied newspaper that serves for a doormat. So close... and nowhere near close enough.

More whacks follow. Pain blossoms in ugly flowers from his buttocks, his thighs, his back. He knows Eddie is talking, but cannot understand what he's saying. His world is the small square of carpet he can see. He focuses on that square. A cigarette butt, flattened. A piece of grit. He counts all the pieces of his tiny world to make himself go far, far away. That ends when Eddie brings the skateboard down on the back of Shawn's head.

The piece of grit sticks to his cheek. He hears something break. As darkness swallows him Shawn hopes it was just his skateboard.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Still don't own these characters or the TV rights. Also, I know I've taken liberties with timelines etc. Forgive me, I call it a necessity for wherever this is going.**

Chapter Three

There is no time, there is just pain, and then darkness, then pain, then darkness.

Shawn moves between these tides mostly willing there to be darkness.

Finally he knows he has to open his eyes. The lights are still on. _That'll burn up whatever money was put in the meter. _He moves his head, but that hurts too much just now. The fact he still has a head means Eddie knew just how far he could take this. That was the Eddie way. Beat, but don't go so far you have to involve hospitals. Bruises can be hidden under clothes, cut heads heal. Worse than previous times, not as bad as it could have been, hopefully.

_Gotta move Hunter._

Everything was effort.

Small steps.

He raised his head off the carpet again and worked out how to tell him arms to return to him. I'm a jigsaw, he thought, gotta put myself back together again. Breathing heavily he slowly made parts of him work, braced himself on his arms, pulled his legs up. Okay, so crawling. Crawling hadn't worked before but it seemed the best option now.

By the time Shawn pulled himself onto the couch he was panting. He moaned softly as he sat, everything protesting at him. He'd be sleeping on his front for a while. He reached up and touched his face, probing gently. Okay. Split lip, no problem. He winced as he touched his left ear and the clotted mess of hair above it. Okay. He hesitated and then reached around the touch the back of his head. It hurt his back but he had to feel it, to know if it was bad, or super bad. He could feel sticky, clotted hair and the deep pounding in his head told him it was bad. But not super bad. Its not like his brains were sticking out.

This was how he dealt with it. It was like a tricky math problem. You had to follow certain steps and then you'd find an answer.

He started shivering. He tried to control it but it wouldn't stop. He wasn't a math problem. he was just... a problem.

Shawn clutched at his sides, eyes closed.

– – – –

When Chet finally came home forty minutes later he was at first startled that there were lights on in his trailer. As he let himself in he looked around for several minutes in total confusion. How come there was blood all over the carpet? A kid sitting on the coach half asleep, rocking back and forth?

The bleary thoughts were blown away as he realized he was staring at his son. "Oh...Shawn." he groaned. "Whad'ya do?"

Shawn opened his eyes, his eyelids fluttering. Would he ever be able to stop shivering? What did he do? In the end he could only make one sound. It was ripped out of him in a gulping cry, "D..d...dddaaad." It was a frightened, childish sound and it hurt Chet to hear it.

He cupped Shawn's face gently in his hands. "Christ Shawn, I'm sorry son, I'm so so sorry. I'll do better by you, I will. I promise."

Shawn felt small, so small he could just disappear. The arm that came around him and half walked, half carried him to the bedroom felt giant. He could smell his Dad had been drinking, but not enough to get blind drunk. "Dad." he whispered. "It hurts."

Chet couldn't stand to hear that lost boy voice coming out of his son. He'd never felt as abruptly sober in his life. "I'm a lousy father for letting this happen, but if there is one thing a Hunter knows how to do, its patch a kid up." He paused, struck by how shameful a thing that was to have as a family tradition. "Well." He started again with more determination. "I'm gonna see after you Shawnie, gonna make you better. I'll look after you over the weekend, you take coupla days off school, you'll be fine. We'll be fine." He pushed a limp hank of hair off Shawn's forehead. "We'll be fine, I just need to get you better."

Shawn didn't believe it, he had stopped believing that mantra years ago. But he was too sore, too exhausted to do anything. He let his Dad try and clean his face and head up best he could. He let him help take off his bloodied clothes. Then he lay with his face pillowed on his folded arms in his undershorts and t-shirt, and slept.

Chet pulled a blanket over him, not wanting to look at the garden of blue and purple flowers growing across his son any longer. What he wanted to do was get a beer out of the fridge and watch TV. But no. He'd try and keep a promise for once. He frowned, vaguely remembering somewhere that you should wake people with head injuries in case they went into a coma or something. He shook his son's shoulder. "Hey, Shawnie."

"Tired. Wanna sleep." was all the mumbled reply he got, but it satisfied Chet. Boy needs to sleep, he reasoned. Sleeps a great healer. He nodded. He could leave Shawn for a bit. He needed to find Eddie and tell him to stay away from the trailer for a week or so.

– – – -

Finally, last class of the day. Cory took his books out of his locker and looked across to where normally, on an ordinary Tuesday, Shawn would be leaning. Bantering together about what excuse to give Turner for not having read an assignment, what to do after school. But there was just space there. Until moments later it was filled by the sweetest face Cory knew. "Topanga! I thought you'd be in class already."

"I would, usually, but this hasn't been a very usual day wouldn't you say?" She kissed Cory lightly. "You're always the last ones to walk in, always a few minutes late. I couldn't let you do that on your own could I?"

Cory smiled and hugged Topanga to him. "Four days, and not a word from Shawn. I..I hate not knowing what he's up to."

"I know honey. I'm worried for him too."

Arm in arm they walked into Turner's class, shared a smile at his raised eyebrows seeing Topanga bend the rules for once, and took their seats.

Turner tried to ignore the empty seat behind Cory but it tore at him inside. Flu, Feeney had said. Really, he'd replied. Feeney had shrugged. Better than Hawaiian Sloth. And I'll go there myself tomorrow if I have to.

Turner cleared his throat. _Focus._ "Okay, Fridays assignment was to write a poem, about something that you'd done that day. Lets have them."

As he went around the desks collecting each paper he groaned inwardly at some of the titles. _Playing with my cat. Meatloaf again._ He grinned inwardly at one effort from the back row. _Turner's classes always suck_. He took Topanga's paper. _ Eat, read, sleep. _ He quickly scanned it as he moved to Cory's desk. It was pretty good, but then Topanga always was. "Mister Matthews. I hope I am not going to be handed a limerick here."

Cory shook his head and gave Turner the very crumpled paper. After writing it he'd thrown it in the bin, retrieved it, then folded and unfolded it several times. "No limericks."

No title either. Turner scanned the few lines quickly. "I thought I said to write about something you'd experienced that day?"

Cory nodded, holding Turner's eye. "And I did." he replied firmly.

Turner read the short poem again as he returned to the front of the class. "OK, Matthews. OK."

– – – –

As the bell rang and the usual stampede to freedom happened Turner called out. "Matthews. A moment. Please."

Topanga touched Cory's arm for reassurance and then left, she'd wait by the locker for him.

Cory approached the teacher slowly. He had never been good at lying to anyone, but especially not teachers. "Um. Yeah?" he managed, with a half smile.

Turner sat on his desk and lent forward. "So, I hear Shawn's got the flu."

"Um...yeah."

"Matthews, you know I care about Shawn, just as you do. If he's sick I'd like to know his Dad is taking good care of him." Turner knew Cory would always do the right thing, it wasn't a struggle for him to approach authority figures or people who cared in the way it always seemed to be for Shawn.

"Um, well, yeah. I'm sure he is." Cory opened his mouth, then shut it again. And took a great interest in the binding of his book.

You're lying, thought Turner, but I can't prove it unless you say it. "When did you last actually _see_ Shawn?"

Relief. This he, Cory Matthews, could handle. The truth. He looked up and smiled. "Oh at mine, Friday night. He stayed for tea then went home at 9.30. Before curfew. For a change." The smile became more tentative. "Mom said he could stay the night, being the weekend an' all, but he said he had some stuff to do."

"What stuff was that?"

"I don't know." Cory paused, and tried a grin. "Maybe he wanted to go do his homework?"

"Nice try." Turner reached behind him and held up Cory's poem. "Not bad work Mister Matthews. Although I wasn't expecting you to have experienced wolves in your day." He looked closer at the boy. "It was about Shawn wasn't it?"

Cory fidgeted. "Um. Yeah, I guess. He was just being all... restless, like being cooped in my room wasn't right. And then Mom was being all embarrassing and put her arm around him and I could see him go, like..." Cory made a face and shuddered. "Only he didn't obviously actually do that. Then he lit out."

"Lit. out." Turner's face was not happy.

Oops. "He didn't want to be late home." Cory ended lamely.

– – – –

Shawn knew he was going to be late, but he knew he could do it. Just one foot, then the next foot. Keep walking. Keep your head down. Just get to school and be normal for a bit.

He didn't want to think about the last four days. Waking up on his own in the trailer after his Dad said he would look after him. Every movement bringing a fresh hell of pain. Standing in the shower shivering under the cold spray but forcing himself to do it. Watching the dried blood in his hair dissolve into red stains at his feet. He didn't have a mirror in the trailer big enough to see what the reverse of him looked like. He didn't need too. Clothes, pain. Sitting, pain. Walking, pain. A persistent headache that never went and slowly kept building.

Dad coming in and out, telling him not to worry Eddie would be staying away for a bit, until things were back to normal. He'd said nothing. Nothing was ever normal. And his Dad was going to let Eddie come back so, what? He could screw something up again and get beaten?

But he had checked himself a zillion times in the bathroom mirror before leaving. Front wise, he was presentable. His hair covered the scabbing cuts on his head. His split lip had gone down and could be explainable. Hunters healed fast. They had to.

The John Adams corridors were mostly empty as he trudged through. He'd missed pretty much all of English but at least he'd got there. He stopped outside Turner's classroom. Why did the first class he'd face have to be Turner's?

He raised his head. He could do this. Smile. Walk.

"So you see there is a difference between just writing about how you played with your pet rabbit, and what Alan Brownjohn was saying in 'We are going to see the rabbit?'?" Turner stopped as the door opened and the ghost of classrooms past walked in.

"Yeah. He was _really _excited to be seeing a rabbit. Didn't get out much I guess."

As the class laughed Shawn slid into his seat carefully, telling himself that nothing hurt, he couldn't show anything here. Cory turned and hissed _you had flu_ before eyes front again.

"Amanda, read the poem again please." He needed a moment in which he didn't have to say anything but just observe. Late arrival, flippant remark. Usual Shawn. But. Always that 'but'. Usual Shawn always slouched in his seat, if he wasn't leaning on his arm dozing. Today's Shawn was scrunched up. He was scribbling on a piece of paper, head down, dangling hair concealing anything further.

When the girl finished reading he thanked her and was about to try and get his students to see the meaning of the poem when he suddenly changed his mind. He strode to Shawn's desk. "Passing notes Hunter?"

"No." A brief glance upwards from under the hair. Shadowed eyes glowered at him from a far too pale face. "Homework. Poem. Did it."

Turner took the scrap of paper. Five spoken words that seemed to have been dragged out of Shawn by force of will. The bell rang. He was still trying to make sense of what he was reading when he realized his chance to speak to Hunter had passed, he'd disappeared, first out of the door.

He frowned reading the words. _This is the world. Its a small world, and mostly it seems brown. But this is the world. All the treasures in my world. All the landscapes. Visit the ground in cigarette butt, left in its original position for many months. Visit the spectacular piece of grit. Grey, with a shine. I call it granite and it might be. This is the worl__d __and it can be granite. The edge of the world is bordered by __the river, i__t grows and flows. __No river of life this, it flows to and from only darkness. __Nobody in this world likes the river. This is the world, __its __small and mostly brown __where__ things can be granite, if they wish to. Or not. Its just carpet_.

A poem about staring at a patch of carpet... Hunter your mind works in ways I cannot fathom. Is it supposed to tell me something, because if so buddy, I'm not following.

He sees Feeney heading past his door and knows he'll only have a few moments before the next class trails in and he had to be Teacher again. "George, can I speak to you?"

"I can spare a minute before my next class." Dapper and unflappable as ever, having Feeney there calms Turner.

"So, what is it man, spit it out." He pauses. "Hunter never made his first class again?"

"No, actually he did. For the last ten minutes anyway. Even did the homework." At Feeney's incredulous look Turner handed over the paper. "But he doesn't look particularly great."

Feeney didn't answer for a long moment. "Jonathan," he said softly, "there is something very troubling about what Shawn has written here. Very troubling." He gave himself a brisk shake. "Well, Shawn's next class is history." He gave a very Feeney smile. "And that is with me."

– – – –

Because of his talk with Turner, Feeney was now running late. Excellent, he thought, hurrying his pace, arriving after the bell to my own history class. He smiled thinly as he walked in. "Okay! Settle down, this isn't a zoo!"

As he talked he easily juggled the history discussion with a casual observation of Shawn. For once it seemed Cory had not been covering up some misdemeanor. The boy looked like he really had been ill. In fact, to be this subdued, probably not quite recovered.

Shawn stared down at his desk blankly. He wasn't listening to anything Feeney was saying, he just wanted today to be over. He had never realized how hard and how uncomfortable school chairs were until now. The headache that had been a background noise for several days was now a giant pounding and Shawn gripped the edge of his desk momentarily as a wave of dizziness come over him. The overhead fluorescent lights were too bright. He swallowed, his throat clicking. He swallowed several times again in rapid succession. He was quite likely going to throw up.

Feeney was surprised to see Shawn's hand shoot up when he asked the class a question. "Mister Hunter?" It was clear immediately as Shawn raised his head he would have no idea what the question had been, or that a question had been asked. He looked drained and shaky.

"Bathroom… sick..." Shawn didn't wait for permission. He flung himself out of his chair and skidded into the hallway. Too much light!

From the classroom they could all hear the unmistakable sound of retching. It was apparent Shawn had not made it to the bathroom after all.

Cory looked at Feeney, his mouth open in surprise. Feeney waved his hand. "Mister Matthews, go find the Janitor please. I will see to Mister Hunter. Go. Now. The rest of you… read, quietly. A substitute will be here shortly."

– – – –

Cory shot a quick glance down the hall to where Shawn crouched but at Feeney's prompt he sped away to get the Janitor. At least everyone was still in classes so the halls were empty. Feeney walked over to the crouching boy, shaking his head. Wrecked, was the word that came to mind. One hand flat on the floor, one hand gripping the edge of the water fountain as another bout of retching juddered through him; it was obvious that Shawn was not going back to class today.

Ignoring the smell of vomit Feeney squatted in front of Shawn. "Mister Hunter." He held out a tissue. At least he had got most of it on the floor and not down himself. Shawn raised his head, eyes squeezed shut. His nostrils flared with panicky breaths. He opened his eyes enough for a slit of blue to appear and then vanish as he squeezed them shut again, face creased in pain.

"Shawn, what ails you my boy?

Each word came through gritted teeth in almost a growl. "Head...ache. Lights… too. Bright. Hurrrts."

"Sounds like you have a migraine. A particularly nasty variety of headache." Feeney said gently. "We'll go to my office. Its closer than the nurse's station."

He took hold of both Shawn's arms and after a moment felt the boy grip him blindly, desperately. "Its okay Shawn. We'll stand up now, put your weight on me. Slowly, there. That's it." He carefully led Shawn the short walk to his office, disturbed how his student's whole body was trembling, every step an effort. Shawn's clothes were always baggy, being a collection of hand-me-downs and cast offs, but today they truly hung off his slight frame. There was a dreadful insubstantiality about him, walking as though his bones were glass. Feeney kept up a quiet monologue to try and reassure himself as much as to calm Shawn. "Full blown flu can take a while to get over Shawn. Certainly longer than 4 days. Here… there is a chair behind you. That's it, careful now… good boy Shawn."

Shawn moaned as he sat, and clutched the wooden armrests to try and stop the spinning feeling. He risked another slitted look at Feeney, then immediately moaned again and shut his eyes.

Feeney knew what Shawn needed was to be somewhere quiet, calm and dark, something hard to find in a bustling high school. Normally when a student became ill he had enough contact details for family or a neighbor to collect the child. Given Shawn's current living arrangements and Chet's notorious unreliability taking Shawn home was out of the question. Christ, the man couldn't even make a simple telephone call to the school to let them know his son was ill! There was only one place he would be happy sending Shawn to.

"Shawn, I'm going to request of Mr Turner that he takes you home. In a cab if necessary." Feeney paused at the groaned 'no'. "To his home." he clarified, getting a small nod in response. "Take today to rest up there. See how you are tomorrow. Migraines can leave you feeling weak. But if you cannot get into school please make sure someone, somehow, contacts me. We worry about you Shawn."

Another tiny nod. Even that hurt. Shawn didn't care about tomorrow. Today was bad enough.

– – – –

Cory burst through Feeney's office door without knocking. "Oh Shawnie!" he almost wailed.

Seeing Shawn flinch Feeney took Cory by the shoulder and looked him in the eye. "Mister Matthews." he said softly. "When someone we care about has a migraine we don't run in screaming. We speak like this."

"Oh heck." Cory hated seeing Shawn like this. Despite the number of times Cory claimed Shawn was off with various sicknesses, in reality he was hardly ever ill. "Sorry Shawn." he whispered. "Mr Feeney, can I do anything, to like, help?"

"Yes indeed you can." Feeney pressed a folded paper into Cory's hand. "Take this note to Mr Turner, then get Shawn's bag from my class."

Cory sped off again. At least doing Feeney's errands felt like he was doing something for Shawn.

– – – –

Turner entered Feeney's office with almost as little decorum as Cory, although he did have the sense to keep his voice pitched low. He went straight over to Shawn and squatted down so he could peer under the hanging fringe into the boy's face. It wasn't pretty. The screwed up eyes showed he was in a lot of pain. The rapid breathing and trembling lip told Turner that Shawn was scared. He knew better than to try and touch Shawn so just lay his hand on top of the others for a brief moment to let him know he was there.

"Hey bud. Never had a migraine before I guess?" A small, trembling shake of the head. "I know you're hurting, and scared, but Feeney called a cab for us." Turner forced a slight chuckle. "Guess he felt you were in no shape to hang onto the back of the Harley this time." No response. "Okay kiddo. Just hang in there until we get you home… back to my place."

Turner joined Feeney across the other side of the room. "I don't have much experience of migraines George, or sick kids."

Feeney looked over at Turner briefly before back to watching Shawn. "Jonathan, my wife would suffer the occasional migraine. Shawn has all the same symptoms. Severe pain that spreads over the head, a dislike to bright lights or noises, vomiting, looking pallid. Make Shawn comfortable in a darkened room, keep everything very quiet and calm. And if you have painkillers, make him take them. Keep a bowl nearby." He thought for a moment. "It may pass in a few hours, it may last several days. And when it does start to fade you might find Shawn a difficult patient, he'll be irritable, unable to concentrate."

Turner gave a hint of a smile. "That I can handle."

– – – –

"Cab is here Shawn." Turner crouched in front of Shawn. "Think you can walk a little way? Don't worry we've waited until classes start again so its nice and empty out there."

He waited, watching intently knowing every movement was more pain for Shawn. Gradually fingers loosened their death grip on the armrests and hands went immediately to press against eyes. A tiny, not-Shawnlike voice.

"Can't see. Hurts to look."

"Its okay bud, see I'll help you. You just keep those eyes closed and it doesn't matter how long it takes us. There is no rush." Turner took Shawn's hands and let him grip onto his forearms. Somehow bones and boy made it to upright, even if it was a very wobbly upright. With his face screwed into a grimace, close to hyperventilating Shawn clung onto Turner's right arm, and pressed his face into the soft fabric of his shoulder.

With Feeney bringing up the rear, carrying Shawn's rucksack, they made their slow progress to the school entrance. Turner didn't know how Shawn was actually making himself move when he could feel the violently shuddering body against his, the desperate fingers digging into him. In the cab, and throughout the short journey back to Turner's apartment, that never changed.

– – – –

At the apartment block it was clear he was never going to get Shawn up two flights of stairs. Shawn was so exhausted it was hard enough to keep him on his feet to get from the cab to the entrance. In the end Turner ignored the whimpered, muffled protest and carried Shawn up to the apartment in his arms. It shouldn't be this easy to carry a 15 year old boy, he thought.

"Shawn, I'm sorry about that bud, but I had to get you up here somehow. Keep your eyes closed. I'll turn off all the lights in a moment but I'm going to put you on my bed now. The bed isn't made up in your old room." He wasn't even sure if Shawn could hear him or if he had retreated to an inner Shawn place.

Turner carefully sat Shawn on the bed and quickly removed the boy's beat up sneakers. There was a wordless noise of protest as Turner began removing Shawn's beloved leather jacket but he was too weak to do anything more. As soon as the jacket had gone Shawn curled into a fetal position on the bed, back to the wall, arms over his face. "H...hhhhh...huuu." He could not form the word.

"Hurts. Shhhh. Don't speak. I'm just going to get you some painkillers"

Within moments he was back. "Vicodin is all I've got. Had it left over from when I threw my back out a couple of years ago. I'm not sure you should have it Shawn. Its pretty strong stuff."

Words were grated through the folded arms. "Had it. Before. Dad. Always. Has it. In case."

Turner looked at the pain medication frowning. That said a lot more than Shawn probably intended, but now wasn't the time or place to pursue that line of thought. He let Shawn push himself up enough to take two of the white pills, placing a bottle of water in his hand.

"No. Water." Shawn swallowed. "Don't. Need it."

"Shawn!" Turner was dismayed. "You can't dry swallow vicodin. You shouldn't be."

Shawn went back into his curled up position. A shuddering mess. There was a noise that wasn't quite a sob. "Jon..." he whispered, "stay. Please?"

Turner sat carefully on the side of the bed. "Staying as long as you need me here Hunter." He wanted to offer some comfort to the boy but how do you comfort someone who flinches away each time you touch them?

Soundless, a pale hand slid across the duvet cover stopping just short of Turner. He gently took it in his and used his thumb to softly stroke the bony knuckles. And even if Shawn didn't want him any closer, at least he hadn't pulled his hand away.

Turner sat that way for over an hour, watching as the painkillers finally started to work and allowing the shaking body to flatten, the gasping breaths to slowly calm. Even after he knew Shawn was in a deep, exhausted sleep, he sat there, lost in thought, stroking the smaller hand.

– – – –

The telephone's summons finally made him ease of the bed and out of Shawn's slackened grip. "Hello?"

"_M__r Turner? Its Cory. I hope you don't mind that I called your home number but I__'ve__ been worrying about Shawn all day, and now final bells gone so I thoug__ht__ now I could call. And Topanga's here 'cos she's worried too. And Feeney. How's my Shawnie Mr Turner?_"

"Calm down Matthews. Jeez, take a breath. First, where are you all?"

"_Feeney's office. I knew he'd call you after school so me and Topanga told him we had to hear too_."

Turner grinned. Cory was a sweet kid, and he could picture Feeney's face at having his office invaded by those two lovebirds. "Cory, trust me, Shawn's gonna be OK. He's asleep, which is good. He's had painkillers and until he wakes up, which is I don't know when, then I'll call you and let you know. We have a deal?"

"_Yeah, cool Mr Turner._" There was a muffled conversation as Cory repeated back the gist of the conversation presumably to Topanga. "_So we can't come over later?_"

"Not right now Cory but I promise I will call you. Now buzz off home and put Feeney on." Turner waited, drumming his fingers on the side table.

"_Jonathan.__ Update me man. The truth. They've gone._"

Turner closed his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose for a moment. "Hell George, I don't know. I've got a kid sleeping on my bed who looks half starved, knocked out on vicodin. How's that for a start?"

He heard the sharp intake of breath. "_You gave him vicodin? Didn't you have paracetamol?_"

"No George," Turner retorted with some impatience, "I don't have much of a pharmacy up here and I couldn't get the cab to stop on the way because I don't think there was any way I could have gotten Shawn to let go of me." He paused. "He was just so exhausted. And he said it didn't matter as he'd taken it before, dry swallowed them like they were nothing! His Dad, good old Chet, keeps them in the trailer 'just in case'. What's that about?"

"_You should read Shawn's full transcript sometime Jonathan. But you'd need quite some time. All I will say is, from my experience of teaching Shawn over the years, whatever you suspect, what happens in the trailer park stays in the trailer park. Closed ranks. Nobody there talks to outsiders. Christ, they barely talk to one another. And Shawn loves his Dad to the point where he won't say anything against him._" There was a sigh. "_The damn 'Hunter Family Code'._"

Turner cleared his throat. "What, see no evil, speak no evil?"

"_Hmph. There are many refrains. I did not see, I did not hear, I__t__ wasn't me, I wasn't there._"

"George," Turner said quietly, "what do _you_ think?"

There was a short pause. "_Jonathan. I think Mister Hunter is lucky to have people like you and the Matthews in his life. He has been passed around more homes than a child should have to adjust to, he's had both parents in and out of his life with no consistency. Its well known Chet is not such a bad father sober and working, but its also well known that he is prone to turning to drink and spends more time on welfare than working. Shawn's mother has disappeared and Shawn has been allowed to grow up unfettered and without normal __boundaries.__ He lives hand to mouth each day._" There was another brief pause, before Feeney spoke in a softer tone. "_But each time, he amazes me Jonathan. He en__d__ures it all. He endures it and it hasn't made him into a thug. He is a troubled, very sensitive young man who has kept his good nature and __humor__ through everything the world throws at him_."

"Thank you George. Thank you. I'll call you when I have any more news."

"_You do so Jonathan… I care about him too._"

– – – –

Turner found himself unable to sleep on the couch so put the T.V on low volume. Great, East of Eden. Just what he needed! He checked his watch again. Shawn had been out of it all day and night, sometimes waking enough to drink water, or to be helped to the bathroom, before checking out again. One a.m. It was going to be a long night still.

He looked at the vicodin bottle he'd taken out of the bathroom when he had counted the pills and realized at some point Shawn had taken another more without telling him. Not that the kid was capable of any speech beyond one syllable mutters.

James Dean pouted and looked moody and troubled. Turner toasted the TV with his can of soda. "Oh I know that look."

The dim quietness of the apartment was broken by a hoarse scream. Turner ran to his bedroom and stopped, heart thumping. Shawn was curled up into a ball on his knees, his hands frantically outstretched, clenched in the duvet cover. He shuddered and cried out again, just a sound of raw hurt. "PLEASE!" he screamed, "Make it stop! No more! No more!"

"Oh, Shawn" Turner pulled the damp, quivering form to him, ignoring the thrashing and resistance. He held onto Shawn, stroking the back of his neck. "Its OK, its OK bud. You're dreaming. I know your head hurts, its the migraine. But you need to wake up, Shawn, c'mon bud, wake up now."

The struggling finally ceased and he felt a hand on his chest slowly push itself away. Turner relinquished his hold on Shawn so he could kneel on the bed, but gently took a hand between his. In the darkness he felt he needed to hold onto some part of Shawn, otherwise it was like he would melt back into the shadows.

For a moment neither spoke. The only sound was Shawn's panicked breathing, slowly calming down. When he felt sure Shawn had got himself under control Turner spoke. "How're you doing kiddo?"

The hand slowly retracted into the dark shadow of its owner. "Turner?" the darkness whispered, confused. Then with more urgency. "Where am I, how did I get here?"

Oh Christ. No wonder he woke up screaming. In total darkness, in pain, no idea where he was. He'd been so out of it with the migraine he couldn't remember a thing. "Shh. You're at my place. I got us here in a cab, from school. You've been zonked out pretty much since then. Look, if your head is still bad cover your eyes, I'm going to put a lamp on but then I'll put it on the floor so it won't be so bright OK?"

The dim light was still too bright. Turner grabbed a shirt from his wardrobe and draped that over the lamp. In the softer light he took in Shawn's appearance. He had moved to the furthest side of the bed, knees pulled up and a pillow clutched tightly into him, face pressed down so all he could see was dark hair, badly in need of a wash. "How's the light for you?" he said, keeping his voice low.

He sat and waited, watching. Patience. Matthews poem came back to him. _He's almost right. _But this was no encounter with a wolf. More, it reminded Turner of when he'd first moved into Philly. He'd gone to put the trash out and there was this skinny stray dog lurking by the bins. When he spoke it had retreated but couldn't escape past him. It was young, thin and worn looking. He'd tried to entice it out with scraps but it had paced back and forth, not quite snarling at him. He sat in that yard for ages, not moving. Holding out the scrap of meat and softly talking to the dog. Eventually it crept up to him, inch by inch, belly to the ground. It took the meat and all the time it was eating its eyes were angled up at his. He'd put his hand out to try and pet it, and like that, the dog had sped past him into the night. Gone.

Wearily, Shawn's head lifted out of the pillow enough so his eyes could peer over the top. He squinted against the light but didn't close his eyes completely. Turner could still see how bloodshot they were though, floating in the dark circles that surrounded them. Shawn sighed, shifted, and rested his chin on the pillow over his knees. "Can't think… just so tired of it."

My stray dog, Turner thought. How do we handle you? "I know Shawn, but if you want to talk go ahead, I'll listen. Or if you just want me to sit here with you, I'll do that too."

The exhausted eyes closed. For a moment Turner thought Shawn had fallen asleep. "Jon… I always mess up, why do I always mess up? Why am I so..so _useless_?"

_Oh Shawn. _ It made him furious that anyone could make someone like Shawn think so little of their self. "I would never think that Shawn. You are not useless. You are one of the most interesting people I've known and you are not useless, or worthless. Or any word you're thinking." His conversation with Feeney came back to him. "Shawn, me and the people who care, really care, about you… we think you're a good kid."

Shawn didn't reply. Turner wanted so much to just reach across the bed to comfort him but knew he had to wait it out. He sat very still as eventually the slight figure crept across the bed, stopping to peer up, eyes swimming with pain and exhaustion. "Mostly." he whispered. "You forgot to say mostly."

Shawn lay down, again curled in on himself, arms crossed over his face. After several minutes though a hand again crept out and let itself be picked up and gently stroked. It wasn't much. But it was better than a stray dog running off into the night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer. Still not owning the rights to BMW or its characters. sigh.**

Chapter Four

When Shawn awoke the following day it was to the sound of someone humming nearby. He padded through to the kitchen and watched for a moment as Turner busied himself getting plates out before realizing.

"Hey kid. How's your head now?"

Shawn pushed both hands through his hair, yawning. He felt better, the headache had retreated somewhat to a dull ache. "Fine." He paused. "Mostly fine."

"Feel up to breakfast?" Turner looked at the clock. "Well a late breakfast seeing as its almost ten o'clock. What do you fancy? I've got eggs, bread, um… some cereal. Milk." Shawn padded over to the couch and flopped down. "C'mon bud, what do you want to eat? If I've not got what you want I can go out and get it, I mean, what would you usually have?"

Shawn flicked through TV channels without really taking in anything on the screen. Usually he'd have what he could find. If he was lucky there would be a slice of left over pizza in a box on the counter, or Cory would buy him a doughnut. "Dunno." he finally replied. "Could use another painkiller. And a coffee.."

Turner laughed, humorlessly. "You are not having a coffee Shawn, that is not a good idea just getting over a migraine. I'll do you a deal. You eat some scrambled eggs on toast, and keep it down. I'll let you have half a vicodin for your headache."

Unable to concentrate on the television, Shawn got up and began to peruse the titles on Turner's bookshelf. "OK, whatever." He moved aimlessly, nothing holding his attention.

Back and forth, back and forth. Turner sighed as he began making breakfast. It was as though he had made no progress with Shawn over the year they'd lived here together, it had all been undone in a few months. Cory's restless wolf was back after all. It made him edgy to watch the boy on his endless prowl around and around. Finally he couldn't concentrate on cooking any longer. "Jeez, Shawn, come here." He waited and smiled at the sullen face. "Will you go outside onto the fire escape for ten minutes, please?"

"Why?"

"Because you need to _breathe_ Shawn."

Then he got it, and gave a half grin. "Its kinda bright out there still."

"Here." Turner took his sunglasses from the counter behind him and put them on Shawn, where they immediately slipped down his nose. Shawn regarded him with some amusement over the slipped frame. "Well, hold them on your nose. They'll do for now."

He watched as Shawn slid out onto the fire exit. "And no leaving!" he called after him, gladdened to hear a bark of laughter in response.

– – – –

Turner was about to call Shawn in when he heard a dismayed cry from the fire escape. Shawn came tumbling back inside, his face a picture of anguish. "Shawn? What happened?"

The boy stood in the middle of the room, running his hands through his hair, agitated. "I didn't mean for it!" he blurted. "I was leaning over to look at the dog and they fell off." He looked pleadingly at Turner. "I didn't mean for it to happen, honest. But they fell, and they broke." Shawn bit on his lip. "I'm sorry. I screwed up. I'm sorry."

Turner frowned slightly, watching as Shawn's fingers pulled at the bottoms of his sleeves and knotted themselves about. "It was just a pair of old shades." he replied. "They can be replaced. Honestly Shawn, its not the end of the world. I go through sunglasses all the time, I'm always sitting on the damn things."

The nervy look was replaced by caution. "Sit down Shawn." Turner shook his head. "It was an accident. Sit, eat before the eggs go cold."

Shawn perched on the stool and picked up a fork. He gave Turner a sideways look, eyebrows pulled together quizzically. "So you're not mad at me?"

Turner laughed. "No bud. Only if you tell me my eggs suck."

– – – –

Juggling keys, bike helmet and a bag of groceries, Turner whistled as he climbed the stairs to his apartment. He had left Shawn dozing on the couch after leaving him a note and walked to the school to fetch his bike. He stopped by Feeney's office to leave him a message and then, having no other way to contact Chet, had swung by the trailer park. Minutes of knocking on the Hunter trailer had elicited no response so he finally put a note through the door. A morning of leaving notes.

As he began to open the door he was stunned by the sound of breaking noises from inside. Turner rushed through and then stopped in shock. Books lay about the floor, bookshelves pulled over. Broken plate shards with cushions and papers. And in the midst of it, a pale dervish with burning blue eyes, was Shawn. He spun, saw Turner and threw the plate he was holding on the floor.

"Well?" he demanded with biting anger. "How'd you like me now then? You mad at me now?" He spun, grabbed the nearest item, a soda can, and thew it at the wall. "How much do you like that? How much do you like me now?"

The frenzied Shawn-storm continued its calculated, destructive path. Turner put the groceries and his helmet on the floor, and took a cautious step towards him, hands out. "Shawn, stop this. You're scaring me. You're gonna hurt yourself."

In response a picture was hurled across the room. Shawn turned and leaned forwards, his eye ablaze. He jabbed his finger at Turner. "You. Tell. Me. Now." The hands fluttered, gesturing to the devastation. "How much do you like me now?" He stopped, breathing heavily, hair plastered across his forehead.

The telephone rang, and rang.

Turner moved quickly and picked it up, eyes never leaving Shawn.

"_Jonathan?_"

"I'll call you later. Now is NOT a good time." He hung up.

"JESUS CHRIST SHAWN!" he yelled. "I LEAVE YOU ALONE AND THIS IS WHAT YOU DO, TRASH THE PLACE?"

The delirious light went out of Shawn's eyes and he seemed to shrink within himself, looking around with wretched apprehension at the destruction he had wrought.

"Oh… oh." Shawn trembled as he looked back at Turner, panic-struck. The words tumbled out of him and he knelt, head down, frantically trying to put back what he'd done. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll put it back. I didn't mean to.. I won't do it again. I'm sorry. Don't be mad. I'm sorry."

Frustrated, Turner grabbed Shawn under the arm and dragged him unresisting to the couch. "What were you trying to prove, to do, with – this?" he yelled, gesturing at the utter mess. He regretted the words as he saw Shawn cringe into the side of couch, pulling his knees up and burrowing his face down. He took a deep breath and sat on the opposite end of the couch. For a moment there was silence.

"Shawn." Turner hesitated, then started again. "Shawn, why? Why, this?"

Hands curled deeper into dark hair, but somewhere underneath came a mumbled response. "I… don't know. I broke your sunglasses."

Turner thought hard. "I wasn't mad at you for that. It was an accident. So… what? You wanted to see what you would have to do for me to be mad at you?"

The pale face raised itself. "You break stuff, you get punished. That's how it is."

"So when I didn't punish you for breaking one thing, you thought you'd have to break everything? Just to see how I'd punish you?" Turner was incredulous. What reasoning went behind that kind of thinking in a kid? Shawn had pushed against him when they first moved in together, testing the boundaries over and over, until he had finally accepted that every argument didn't have to result in someone leaving. This was different though. "Shawn… just tell me – what is going on in your head?"

Shawn sat very still, not looking at Turner. In a small voice he replied. "Do you still like me?"

"I don't like what you did to the apartment,, but yes, Shawn, I still like you."

"Are you gonna punish me?"

Turner sighed. "Oh Shawn, haven't you punished yourself enough?"

He wouldn't cry. A Hunter didn't cry. But he buried his head into his hands, his shoulders shaking with the effort of holding it in. And this time he didn't flinch away when Turner put a comforting arm around him.

– – – –

Once the storm has passed Turner sent Shawn off to have a shower, loaning him a t-shirt and dressing gown. Both far too large, but it gave Turner an opportunity to put the clothes Shawn had been wearing for far too long in the wash. A much fresher Shawn emerged from the bathroom as Turner was trying to put some order back to the apartment, the black robe hanging down to his ankles. He pulled its hood up, enveloping his head in darkness. "Turner..." he said deeply, "You underestimated the power of the dark side."

"Okay Darth." Turner grinned then looked at Shawn seriously. "But I don't want to see that dark side anymore. You ready to talk about this, I'll listen. In the meantime, you can help clear up."

Shawn pulled the hood back down, his face painted with guilt. He began collecting books. "I am sorry. For all of this. For everything."

"I know." Turner emptied another dustpan of broken crockery into a trash bag. "I just wish I knew what you were thinking."

Shawn didn't reply, but kept his back to Turner as he gathered up papers. A thought occurred to him. "Did you let my Dad know I was here?"

"I went down to the trailer park." Turner noted Shawn paused in his collecting. "But there was nobody home so I left your Dad a note. And before you ask, I called the Matthews' and spoke to Cory. I also told Mister Feeney that you'd be back in school tomorrow."

He got a grunt in response. "Shawn, is there something going on at home I should know about?"

Another freeze before the tidying began again. Still not looking at him. "No. Nothing. Everything is fine."

"Your dad not been drinking again?" Turner asked the question mildly, watching Shawn closely. Finally the boy turned to look at him, face guarded. "I know he's not been working. I know -"

"You don't know!" Shawn interrupted. "You leave my dad alone!" He thrust the armful of books back on the shelf. He spoke angrily. "He tries, he really does. Sometimes he slips up. Forgets things. But he wouldn't hurt me!"

To push or back off? Turner decided to risk it. "Did he used to hurt you, when he was drinking?"

Everything became very still and silent. Finally Shawn turned, breathing heavily, shaking with anger. "My dad used to drink, and sometimes I'd get in his way. Or I'd screw up and he'd have to punish me. But he never whaled on me. And yes, sometimes he still has a drink, but he doesn't hurt me. He just forgets stuff. I don't wanna talk about this. To you. Now. Ever."

Equally angry, Turner walked towards Shawn. "So you think it is fine for a father to give a kid a black eye, push him over, give him a slap?" He took hold of Shawn's shoulders. "Tell me, because something has been eating at you for weeks and if you won't talk to me I'll go ask Chet myself."

"No." Shawn said with a cold fury. "My dad doesn't hit me. Not even if he's been drinking. Not since I was little." The anger died in Shawn's eyes and he pulled himself from Turner's grasp to sit on the couch. "He just forgets I exist."

"Oh Shawn… if its not working out with you and your dad..."

"No!" Shawn shook his head vehemently. "He promised, when I… when I got sick. He was going to quit drinking. We take care of each other. He's my dad, he needs me. And I love him." he finished simply.

– – – –

The rest of the afternoon passed in awkward silences or with Shawn giving only the most perfunctory replies to anything further Turner asked.

Turner was almost relieved when there was a knocking at the door, not quite so happy when he found Chet Hunter on the doorstep. "Well Howdy Teach!" he boomed, striding in. "Heard you'd been looking after m'boy."

"Dad!" Shawn shot off the couch and let himself be wrapped in a bear hug. "Missed you Dad."

"Missed you too Slimjim."

Turner watched with a pang of jealousy. The boy flinches away from anyone touching him but throws himself into the arms of someone who has hurt him in so many ways.

Chet slung his arm around Shawn's shoulder and looked towards Turner. "Wanna thank you for looking after my Shawnie, and I'm sorry I've not been in touch before now. Had some business to attend to."

Shawn's face questioned him. "Shh. Not in front of Teach," Chet winked. "Cash in hand business."

Chet, a man for whom whispering was still loud. Turner gestured to the couch. "Have a seat Chet. Can I get you a drink?"

"Coffee'd be good if you're brewing." Father and son regarded each other solemnly, an unspoken conversation playing out between them. "You gotten over this, um, flu thing, this headache, now?"

"Yeah. Pretty much fine again. Just ache a bit. Did you miss me?"

"Well, its pretty quiet being home all by myself. Be good to have you home this evening son. Just the two of us." There was a pause and he grinned lopsidedly down at Shawn. "Unless you got better places to be, gonna tell me you wanna take off and move in with some pretty girl."

Shawn gave a half grin back. "No… I reckon maybe I'll wait until I'm, say, about 22, perhaps until I do that?"

Chet laughed. "Yeah, 22 is a great age to be moving out and living with a girl."

Turner looked from one Hunter to the other, knowing there was some subtext to the conversation he was missing. The Hunter code, and he wasn't able to crack it.

Chet smoothed Shawn's hair away from his forehead. "Me and you huh. I've been getting the place all tidy, getting some bills paid so its home again. We'll get us a pizza tonight and play a little poker."

Shawn hugged his father. "Yeah, sounds good."

– – – –

Weeks passed and things eased back to what passed for normality. With Eddie now out of picture living with his girlfriend downtown Shawn only had to deal with the minor problems of his life. Trying to keep the trailer clean, taking the washing to the launderette or doing it in the shower when cash was short, scrounging meals, chatting to girls, hanging out with Cory and Topanga at Chubbies. On the occasional nights when his Dad's resolve would slip and he'd pass out drunk on the lounge floor Shawn would slip out and climb in through Cory's window. And on the good nights when his Dad was sober and had picked up a day or two of work he would take Shawn with him over to Uncle Mike's to eat pizza and play poker, or teach him how to hustle playing pool.

He had even mostly convinced himself that he had been off school with flu. He pretended inside that the weeks of living under Eddie had never happened. It was only when he'd run his hands through his hair and feel the scar left on the back of his head that the pretense didn't work.

It wasn't great, but it was fine, in its way. For a boy that didn't expect much, that was enough.

He should have known it wouldn't last.

– – – –

Shawn had spent the evening at Cory's house, ostensibly to do their homework assignment for Turner's English class, but mostly to kick Cory's butt shooting hoops and help himself to whatever food happened to be in the fridge. But by 10 pm he felt closed in and quietly got dressed. As he opened the window Cory woke. "Shawn?"

"Sorry." Shawn whispered back at the bleary inquiry. "Its been great hanging out tonight but I don't do curfews." The night air called him. He knew his dad wouldn't notice if Shawn returned home at 9pm or past midnight. He knew that when he'd seen the 8 pack of beers on the counter.

"Yeah." Cory yawned. "But one night when Mom says you can stay over, it would be nice if you like, actually stayed." He saw Shawn's huge grin and waved a sleepy hand. "Go. See you at school tomorrow."

Shawn enjoyed the night, when the streets were empty. He wished he still had his skateboard – but he wouldn't let himself think about why he didn't. Finally tiring of ways to amuse himself he made his way back to the trailer park, and let himself in.

Shawn stopped, the feeling of ice inside him. "Hello Runtboy."

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. His nightmare was sitting on the couch as if he'd never been away. And his Dad, his usually brash, loud dad, was sat at the table, somehow.. diminished. Beer bottle in one hand, a bruise under his right eye.

"Dad?" Shawn's voice was barely a breath.

"Hey Slim." Chet finished the bottle and reached for another. "You're gonna need to move your stuff. Sleep on the couch."

Eddie stretched, grinning sardonically. "You don't look pleased to see me."

Shawn edged further into the room warily. "Good to see you Eddie." he said flatly. "But I thought you were living with your girlfriend."

"Ex." Eddie laughed. "So I'm back. Dad was a little resistant to the idea, but I persuaded him. Didn't I?

Chet pulled deep on the beer bottle. "Guess we can all get along, can't we. Hey you're both my sons." His voice slurred. Eddie had been stronger than him, and could hit hard. It was easier to drink the beer and not have to think about it. Easier to look inside the beer bottle than to look at Shawn's still, waxen face.

"I ain't telling you twice Runt." Eddie stood and shoved Shawn hard towards the bedroom. When Shawn didn't move fast enough he took his half-brother by the arm and twisted it, fingers digging deep. "What do you do when I tell you to do something?"

Chet didn't know when he staggered to his room and passed out on the bed. He didn't know what time it was when he woke. He only knew that passing out meant he didn't have to hear Shawn's stifled cries of pain.

– – – –

Life resumed, back into the horror he thought he had lost. In the days that passed Shawn led two lives, what he thought of as Day-Shawn and Night-Shawn. Day-Shawn went to school, kidded around, hid behind a mask and kept up the pretense even on the days when Eddie's temper was quicker than Shawn's ability to run. Night-Shawn tried to avoid going home as much as possible. Night-Shawn tried to be invisible and tried to be good. Eddie knew where Cory lived. He had left the threat hanging. And Shawn would take any amount of punishment if it kept Eddie from carrying that threat out.

But it was getting harder and harder to keep leading two lives, to keep deflecting the questions. And yet he had to. Eddie's life lessons were beaten into him, literally.

His Dad made efforts to try and protect his son from the worst of the beatings. Eddie was faster and harder though. And one day Shawn came home and his Dad's truck was gone, and so was his Dad.

Life, for Shawn, became a very complicated.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer. I do not own these characters, they are working for Disney presently. Also this is the longest chapter yet so if you are reading, stick with me if you like this. There are more chapters to come but wanted to see what you thought so far if you've bothered to read to chapter 5 (thank you if so!)**

Chapter Five

The last class on a Friday was always the hardest to teach, Turner thought. No one wanted to read Coleridge when they could be passing notes, planning their weekends, whose house the cool party was at. He walked up the row of nearest tables and deftly grabbed three notes before they could be hidden. "Look, I know you all want to get out of here. I want to get out of here. But until that bell rings you are here, with me, for English. So, until that bell rings we are reading Coleridge, not passing notes."

He went back to the front of the class. "So to save us time, I'll read these notes out, then we can concentrate." He unfolded the first, enjoyed the discomfited looks between his students. "Claire wants to know if Mia is going to Chubbies after school." Turner looked up. "Well Mia?"

"Um… yes. I guess so."

"OK." Turner looked down again. "Ah. Anonymous note, to Mia also. 'You wanna hang with me after school?' Seems you're popular Mia. And Jamie just blushed, so perhaps all three of you should 'hang' at Chubbies after school. And finally, Cory passing Topanga a note." He read it silently, and thrust it in his pocket. "And he also wants to hang with Topanga after school.".

_Shawn won't talk to me._

No, thought Turner. He's stopped talking to me too. For several weeks Shawn had been slowly getting more withdrawn, and he'd started turning up late again. If there was a way of reaching him though, Turner didn't know what it was. Everything was, as ever, _fine._

On impulse he called Shawn's name. The boy looked up, coming back from whatever place he'd been lost in. "As you have so little to say, you can read out the poem we were supposed to be discussing." He waved the book in the air. "Hello, Coleridge? Ancient Mariner? Read Shawn."

Shawn had no idea what poem they were supposed to be discussing. He assumed his book was open on the right page and began to read: "_I have experienced the worst the World can wreak on me. The worst that can make life indifferent..._" Shawn stopped reading.

Cory spun to look at him. "Wrong page!" he hissed.

Turner had Topanga take over reading duties. Wrong page for the class, he thought, but those words spoke to Shawn in a way that made Turner feel he understood the poem all too well.

As the bell rang Turner forestalled the quick get away he knew Shawn would put into action. "Hunter! Matthews! A moment of your time!"

He waited for the rest of the class to leave and looked at the two boys. Matthews, a clean-cut, regular kid. A regular, healthy looking kid, looking at Shawn with concern. And Shawn… glowering out of shadowed eyes, too pale, too skinny and just too damn tired looking. "So… what's going on then?"

Shawn shrugged. "Nothing. Get to the point, I've got places to be."

"Excuse me?" Turner stood up. "Where do you have to be Shawn? What is so important that you blow off your friends and shut yourself off from me?"

Shawn gave him a stubborn look. "Thanks for the lecture."

Shawn turned to leave but Cory was quicker for once. He grabbed Shawn's arm, that hurriedly let it go at Shawn's incoherent near snarl. "Shawnie!" he said, completely taken aback.

As Shawn shrugged and slammed out of the class, Cory looked at Turner, biting his lip.

"What do you know Matthews?"

"Nothing!" Cory blurted. "I'm sorry but for once I can't cover for Shawn because he avoids me, he won't talk to me. I know he's doing two paper routes first thing in the mornings, but only 'cos my Dad has seen him when he's been driving into work. Shawn said a while back his Dad was back on welfare so I guess he needs the cash but I don't know what he spends it on as I've not seen him buy anything for himself."

Turner nodded. If Shawn was doing two paper routes because Chet couldn't afford to buy him things, he was damned if he knew what Shawn was doing with the money either. The kids clothes hung off him, the same crumpled few items he'd always worn. "So he doesn't hang out with you and Topanga after school?"

Cory shook his head, looking lost. "No… he takes off soon as classes finish. If I manage to catch him he shakes me off and says he's got stuff to do. The only time he seems to come to mine now is..." Cory stopped himself, not sure if he should tell Turner.

"Oh darn it." Cory looked pleadingly at Turner. "Don't tell Shawn I told you. But I always leave my window open for him. And he would come in, have tea, sometimes stay. You know how it was. But now… I wake up in the middle of the night and Shawn's let himself in and is asleep on the floor or on the end of my bed. And then in the morning, he's gone before anyone else awakes. Mom only knows he's been there at all as the milk keeps disappearing." He gave a sickly grin. "She said if she'd wanted a cat she'd have adopted one from the city pound."

"If you find out anything more, you come to me, you call me, no matter what time of day or night it is. I'm worried about what Shawn is doing if he can't tell his best friend."

And, Turner thought, maybe I'll take a ride myself down to the trailer park, and see what is going on for myself.

– – – –

Shawn ran out of school and headed down town. He didn't want to have to keep blowing Cory off or lying to Turner but he knew if he started to tell either of them about one thing, he would just lead to more questions. Like where was his father. And questions would lead to Eddie. And Eddie had already promised that if he ratted on Eddie, it wouldn't be just him who would get hurt.

"_I should have pounded that curly kid properly when I had the chance, before I got to have my little holiday in prison_."

No, Shawn would not let Eddie happen to Cory again. He was a screw-up, he was just useless trailer trash, he didn't matter, but he'd protect his friend from the monster as long as he could.

He didn't go to the trailer park but instead to where he went most days after school, down to his Uncle Mike's bike repair shop. There he'd change into a dirty boiler suit, pull on work gloves and help Uncle Mike out until he closed up. It was hard work but Uncle Mike paid him cash each evening, and gave him change for the vending machine. Uncle Mike knew a little more than anyone what was going on but he was a Hunter and more than anything, family business was private business. Shawn would try and do homework assignments in the back of the repair shop but it was getting harder to juggle all the fragments of his life.

But he had to do these things. Eddie didn't know about his paper routes, not being a morning person, and that money Shawn kept carefully hidden under the trailer. He would save up enough to just take off, to go anywhere else. It would be awful leaving Cory but right now the idea of eventually having his freedom was all that kept Shawn going.

Unfortunately Eddie did know about Shawn working at the repair shop. And Eddie didn't like to work for his own money, he made his living through his various criminal activities. But having Shawn earn cash… well, that was just great for Eddie. He could take that deal all day, he just had to make sure Uncle Mike didn't actually know who ultimately got the money.

"Hey Shawnie!" Uncle Mike boomed. He was a huge man, bigger and louder even than Chet. He wasn't overly blessed with brains but he was a caring man in his own way. He tossed a can of soda over. Shawn was waif-like beside this giant but Mike knew if his nephew got wind of any of his slightly less legitimate schemes and called him on it, Mike would back down from a confrontation immediately. Usually with a half-ashamed grin. "You looking tired little Shawnie." he said ponderously. "You wanna skip work this evening and just crash here for a space. Well, that would be OK."

Shawn shook his head, heading out the back and talking back over his shoulder. "Thanks Uncle Mike, but I don't work, I don't get paid right?"

The huge man laughed. "We don't do charity that is for sure. Help Big Paulie with stripping down that old Harley then. You know how to keep track of the parts better than that lug."

– – – –

Turner decided against going to pay the trailer park a visit that evening. He stopped across the street in the motel car park and could see the Pink Flamingo by night was a different proposition to visiting during the day. A motley gang of street hoods of various ages were hanging out the front, some sitting on the rusting hulk of a car, some on their own motorbikes. Scuffles would randomly break out, everything punctuated with swearing, raucous laughter and the sound of breaking glass.

He hoped Shawn wasn't somewhere in that rabid pack and had finally gone to Cory's house. Turner scrolled through his 'phone until he came across the Matthews' number. It was actually Cory who answered.

"_Shawnie?_"

"No, sorry Matthews. Just me." Turner heard the sigh of disappointment and Topanga in the background. "Take it you two still haven't seen Shawn since school ended."

"_S__orry Mr Turner. __Dad and I drove by the skate park and a couple of other places Shawn sometimes goes to when he's took off, even drove by the bus station, but he's not anywhere I could think of_." Another plaintive sigh. "_Mr Turner, I ran out of places to look and Shawn doesn't have a whole lot of real friends he goes to hang out with, he's not been involved with any of his girlfriends for weeks and its not like he's got relatives who he'd go see. They're either at the trailer park or in prison and they don't speak to one another. The Hunter clan aren't a close family_."

Turner assured Cory he would not give up on Shawn just yet, his mind working with sudden sharpness. It was a long shot but Turner recalled one member of the Hunter clan who may have a little more time than the rest for Shawn. He'd only met the giant bearlike figure of Uncle Mike twice, once to get his Harley fixed, and the other time to protest over the extortionate invoice at the end. Both times Shawn had wandered in out of the back, a miniature grease monkey. Uncle Mike looked like a brute, and was terrifying, but he also had a simple childish quality. He grinned recalling Shawn squaring up to his big uncle when he had found out Mike was trying to cheat him on the amount for the repair. Uncle Mike could have used Shawn as a tooth pick but here was this skinny little kid telling him off, and winning the argument.

Well, time to kill two birds with one stone. He had been wanting a new LED tail lamp for a while, and Uncle Mike's was as good a place to pick up decent parts cheaply. As long as you could ignore the lack of serial numbers at least!

– – – –

As soon as he walked into the repair shop it was just as he recalled. Uncle Mike behind the counter rising to his full height. "We're closing!"

"Sign on the door says you're open." Turner indicated with his thumb.

"Oh." Mike sat down, frowning with suspicion. "Well. Maybe we are open, maybe we are not. Depends on who you are and what you want."

"That's my Harley parked outside, I've been looking for an LED tail light but prices for new… I can't afford them on a teaching salary." Turner smiled. "Just came on the off chance you would know someone who might be advertising one for sale, or if you have anything."

"Huh." Mike gave Turner a long stare and then made his mind up. "BIG PAULIE!" he bellowed. "GET IN HERE!"

Big Paulie was obviously Uncle Mike's son to look at. It was also pretty clear that in Mike's family, Mike would actually be considered the brainy one. "Harley tail lights." Mike went on. "LED ones. We got any back there?"

Big Paulie shrugged. "Dunno." he rumbled. "Kid does the sorting. He climbs that shelving like a monkey."

"Well.. go wake him. Good job one of you's has brains."

Turner now knew what Shawn was doing after school. He had always hung out here in summer holidays, but must need cash really badly to be working these hours. But why?

Shawn was looking down at a folder covered in oily fingerprints as he came through to the shop so didn't immediately notice Turner. He yawned hugely. "Tail lights..." he scanned the list in front of him. "Depends. I mean we've got some stuff Uncle Mike but it depends what model, what year..." He finally looked up and his eyes widened. "Mister Turner?"

"Hi Shawn." His heart ached as he looked at the boy he had befriended, taken into his home. Not the same boy now but a pale imitation. Shawn had his hair pushed under a black slouch beanie hat, his face beneath a stark contrast of pale skin and dark grime smudges. He looked washed out. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Oh yeah!" Mike exclaimed. "Now I recollect you. I fixed your bike for you, you're little Shawnie's teacher." He patted Shawn on the head. "He's a good kid. Tell you what, you write down your bike model, year, exactly what you want, I'll check and if we ain't got what you want, I'll put in some calls, get you a good deal."

"Yeah, that would be great." Turner hesitated. "Say, if you're closing up soon you want me to give you a lift anywhere Shawn, maybe come back to mine." He saw the wariness and hesitation. "No pressure, just been kinda quiet since you moved out, so if you just wanted to come back, get washed up, have something to eat, just hang and watch a bit of TV..." He grinned. "And as its a Friday night I'm not mentioning curfew."

Shawn could feel himself pulling away, but, really wanting to just have someplace to go for a while where he wasn't afraid, finally nodded. "Got some stuff to finish up. But if you could come back in about an hour?"

Turner grinned. "You're on little buddy."

– – – –

Leaving the shop, Turner rode a way up the street before turning off his engine and finding somewhere he could watch unobtrusively. After about twenty minutes he was rewarded by seeing Shawn leave his Uncle's too. Now out of the baggy overalls and back in his leather jacket and torn up old jeans, the beanie still in place, Shawn had his hands thrust in his pockets and slouched up the street, luckily in the opposite direction to where Turner stood.

Turner was puzzled when the boy stopped and it became clear he too was trying to look invisible… waiting.

For several long minutes both boy and man waited, the first unaware he was being watched.

Turner was confused when a motorbike roared up and made an unnecessary half-turn skid to a halt. With his back to Turner's position all he can say for certain was that the rider was taller, and older, than Shawn. He wished he knew what was being said, because only seeing Shawn's nervous agitation at the others approach was killing him. As Shawn held something out to the mystery rider, his hand was grabbed. Even Turner could make out the angry retort.

"This all you got? You trying to cheat me here?"

Shawn's plaintive response was too muffled to here. He was backpedaling away from the other person, hugging himself. Satisfied for now, the rider left. Turner felt suddenly cold. Drugs? Is that… is that what he'd seen go down here? Shawn Hunter buying drugs?

Turner shuddered. It couldn't be… not Shawn. Sure he moved on the outskirts of some very shady groups but he was never one of those in a gang. He wouldn't…. Turner didn't want to contemplate it, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. The wan face, the lack of interest in school or friends, the weight loss, the secrecy.

Oh Shawn, he mourned. What happened to you?

Turner watched to make sure Shawn wasn't taking off and was actually going to wait for him before he discreetly pushed his Harley up the street and away from the scene. He checked his watch. It had been almost an hour. Now he knew – he hoped he was wrong about that – it was time to collect Shawn, get him back to the apartment… and then what? Confront him? Try and keep everything casual and see if Shawn opened up? Turner was in a quandary. If he did or said the wrong thing now he'd never get Shawn to set foot in his apartment again.

– – – –

"Just like the old days huh?" Turner held the door open and watched Shawn as he flopped down on the sofa. He got a shrug.

_Okay, not like the old days. _"No date tonight then Shawn? The Hunter charm on hold?"

The boy looked at him, brows pulled together. "Yeah… well… I don't see you bustling a woman out of the door, I don't hear your 'phone ringing." he responded belligerently.

Shawn shifted slightly and looked down at his hands, knotted in his lap. "Sorry Jon." he said softly. "That was… was stupid of me. Rude. I… I appreciate you picking me up, letting me hang out here."

"You're _always_ welcome to hang here Shawn," Turner reiterated. He didn't know how many more times he would have to say it before Shawn believed it. He seemed to have so little trust in anyone of late. "So. What do you say – I'll order us in some pizza, you go take a shower because – no offense kiddo but you're looking a little like Stinkpen just now." He was rewarded with a genuine Shawn Hunter smile. "Then we eat, watch a movie."

"Gimme a minute to try and find you something to wear, them clothes is going in the wash this evening.

He returned with the dressing gown Shawn had worn when he was last here and an old pair of shorts and t-shirt that Shawn had left before moving out. They'd been a little small for him then, and Turner hadn't gotten to completely emptying Shawn's old room out. He didn't think they'd be on the small size now.

Shawn took the clothes, hesitating and fingering the fleecy material of the dressing gown. He looked up at Turner, his eyes a mixture of guilt, worry and wanting. "I am sorry Jon." At the unspoken question his hands gestured, at once taking in the space on the wall where a picture had hung and miming smashing. "Sorry about what I did, last time you let me stay. I hate myself for having done it. I don't know why you put up with me."

The self-contempt, and the need to be reassured. How little value did Shawn think he had? "Hey. You already apologized for that. You don't need to hate yourself… you shouldn't think that way. And I don't just put up with you, you're not a bad cold that I have to put up with, you're Shawn. And you drive me crazy but I like you kid." Turner gave a wry smile. "You make life interesting anyway." His smile broadened. "And you'll be glad to know at present I have paper plates and plastic cups."

The laugh was rueful, but it was a laugh.

– – – –

When Shawn finally emerged from the bathroom the rhythm between the two settled almost back into how it had been before, bantering, teasing, the conversation drifting between topics but Turner deliberately not asking any of the thousand questions he wanted to. For now it was just good to see Shawn slowly unwind. It was good to not constantly see that wary watchfulness, the small movements that gave away the stress inside.

As they waited for the pizza to be delivered Turner called out titles from his film collection, each met with a variety of groan. "These films all…. Suck." Shawn announced solemnly, but grinning. He began to pull more DVDs from the cupboard. "You don't have action films, you don't have horror films, you have films that suck. These are such _teacher_ films. You have anything not in subtitles? Or really old?"

"Here." Turner thrust a DVD at Shawn. "Its old, and I will regret this, but I've got a feeling you'd probably like Easy Rider." With its adult references he wasn't sure if this was a good idea or a bad one. But his gut instinct told him that Shawn knew a lot more of its adult themes than a lot of kids in his class, and even if he hated the film, it would hopefully at least give an opening into discussing some of them.

– – – –

"Like a true nature's child, we were born, born to be wild. Climb so high, never wanna diiiiiiieeee." Shawn sang, drawing out the last word with a huge grin.

Turner forgot sometimes that Shawn could sing. It happened so rarely, only in brief off guarded moments. "Not such a bad film then?"

"Hey, considering it was full of dead old dudes, it was pretty cool." He read the blurb on the back of the DVD case, reaching for a slice of pizza with the other arm. The loose sleeve of the dressing gown caught on the edge of the table and rode up without Shawn noticing. "You _so_ wish you were Dennis Hopper."

"Jesus Christ." Turner stared at Shawn's left arm. It wasn't needle tracks or any sign of drug use, that had been his fear. But it was an ugly, deep gash, badly healing. He grabbed Shawn's hand before the boy could move. "How in hell did you do that?"

Shawn stared at his own arm, his face unreadable. He had bruises fresh, bruises fading, scars healed over and some not so. He had so many he shouldn't be able to recall exactly each one as a separate moment in time, but he could. Each bruise, each scar, each cut or burn. All carefully and sadistically placed on him by Eddie where no one would see them. He knew this one too. And it was the only one that Eddie hadn't caused.

Turner was surprised by the sudden, and genuine, laugh. "At Uncle Mike's. Last week. Me and Big Paulie have been stripping back a Harley." Shawn grinned. "You'd cry man, seeing Big Paulie going at that machine." He poked the edge of the wound, wincing. "As Uncle Mike said, you working around sharp objects, you working around tools, you working around Big Paulie, you get careful quick or you get hurt."

He looked at Turner with absolute candor. "Didn't seem that bad so wasn't worth saying anything. I had to learn to be careful and not to be stupid. I also didn't want to get into trouble for working at Mike's. And don't give me a lecture Jon about it, not now."

"Not now. But -" Turner could feel Shawn pulling his hand away and mentally barricading himself. He gave in, for now. "Okay Okay! You win, but let me get the first aid kit, get that cleaned up and dressed."

– – – –

"There. Not as good as new but at least I'm not going to be worrying your arm will turn septic and fall off." Turner inspected the neat bandage, and then inspected Shawn. The kids eyes were half closed and Turner realized that Shawn had been on the go since very early that morning, and was shattered.

He fetched through a pillow and spare blankets, dropping them on the sofa. "Lie down bud, you need to sleep."

Shawn gratefully fell sideways, curling onto the sofa. "Thought you said no curfew." his voice muffled in the pillow.

"I think your brain disagrees." Turner switched the TV off but left a lamp on. "You promise me you will still be here in the morning?"

"Mmmf." A pause. "Truth. Probably not."

It wasn't until after he had gone to bed also that Turner realized something. At no point had either of them discussed letting Chet know where his son was that night. Still feeling that he only had part of the story Turner fell into a troubled sleep.

– – – –

Small, furtive noises roused Turner from his sleep. He heard the apartment door close softly and picked up his watch off the nightstand. A little after half six am. He sighed and slowly drifted back to sleep.

The alarm went off 3 hours later. _Saturday time_. Turner pulled on an old t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms and then paused as he opened the bedroom door. How come he could smell bacon?

He strode out to the kitchen and sat with happy surprise at the counter. "I do not believe it. Shawn Hunter, cooking. How come you never cooked when you lived here?"

"You always did it."Shawn said simply. He turned his attention away from the grill pan and looked almost shy. "I always could cook. Just didn't think.. people'd want me to." He grinned. "I usually just eat in other peoples homes."

Turner's stomach growled in readiness, making Shawn laugh. "All this time, you can still surprise me. You cook like this for your Dad?"

Concentrating on making sure everything was cooking perfectly, Shawn spoke without his usual guardedness. "Oh well, I used to sometimes. 'My Shawnie makes the best hangover cure in the world!' I taught myself, I'd see Mrs Matthews cooking and I dunno, it wasn't so hard. My Mom just made it look hard. When she left it was that, well, sometimes I'd cook, if there was anything to cook with. Ain't never done it for someone else though. So don't blame me if you get food poisoning or something."

So much I never knew, Turner thought. So much I should have taken more time to find out when I had you here. But I was too busy struggling with the idea of being responsible for someone other than myself. How many kids teach themselves to cook because their Mom is nowhere around and their Dad wants a hangover cure? How many kids out there go home to face not having food in the house? So much piled onto Shawn over the years and yet he stood there, just wanting to do something nice, just wanting approval like a pup that had been kicked around but still came back wagging its tail.

"_Ain't never_?" Turner pushed his feelings down before the tragic life Shawn had been made to lead overwhelmed him. "You use double negatives before an English Teacher?"

"You teach English?" Shawn laughed and started to dish up. "Eggs, bacon, beans, tomatoes, sausage." he announced proudly. "Or as the English would say, a full English."

It did his heart good to see Shawn eat. Obviously the kid hadn't lost any appetite when food was in front of him, so if he looked lean as an alley cat it had to come down to two things Turner reasoned. Either there wasn't food to be eaten at good old Chet's, or he only really ate when he was this relaxed. "When you left this morning, paper route?"

"Nnngh" Shawn swallowed. "Nah, weekend routes are prime. They go first. No one wants to have to do the long routes before school though, so I got them." He tilted his head enquiringly at Turner. "Is it OK?"

"Its better than OK. Its probably the best breakfast I've had." Turner liked the shyly pleased smile Shawn wore, and probably wasn't aware of. "So if you didn't have to deliver papers, why take off first thing this morning?" He noted Shawn had stopped eating, the fork dancing back and forth through his fingers.

"Uh. You heard me leave." Turner nodded. "Well.." Shawn pushed one hand through his hair, whilst the fork did its nervy rotation back and forth in his other. "I wanted to be here, to do this… to make up for the, you know, um, mess I made of your place. And then I thought, if I slip out, I can let Dad know where I'd be." He went back to eating. In reality he knew the only chance he would have to get into the trailer without Eddie being there was really early, so he could take a little of his money from his hiding place and grab a few things he'd need for another day of not knowing where he would be staying.

_Liar._ Turner knew from every moment he'd lived with Shawn that the kid was lying, but it was a convincing act. "You think he'd mind if you stayed over again then, if you want?"

Shawn shrugged. "He never worried when I weren't home. He knew I'd be here, or at the Matthews. If I weren't, he knew I'd turn up." He snorted. "Or the police would call." Shawn hadn't noticed he'd used the past tense with his father, but Turner had and mentally stored that away too. Shawn gave Turner a questioning, sideways stare. "You really want me hanging out here again today?"

"Yes Shawn. I've not had much of a chance since you moved out to hang with you. I like it." He went to ruffle Shawn's hair without thinking but stopped himself at the automatic flinch away. "I'd better get washed up and dressed. I don't suppose it will be long before Cory turns up here will it?"

Shawn grinned guiltily. "I called him. I hope its cool, not ruining your plans or anything. But I've not really hung out with Cory much lately either."

No, it didn't bother Turner. Where there was one, there would always, eventually, be the other.

– – – –

It was nearly lunch time when Cory arrived, beaming. "Shawnie!"

Shawn jumped off the couch, grinning. "Cor. You took your time."

"Ah the parental delaying tactics of not wanting their son to have a good time, and instead making him do chores." Cory put on a pained face. "Can you believe it, on a Saturday, they make me do chores."

Chores, Turner thought. Two best friends, so vastly different. Cory, the rock throughout all Shawn's ups and downs, a good kid, a normal kid with normal kid problems. And Shawn. Turner regarded the pair as they sat on the couch arguing amicably about the Green Arrow comic Cory had with him. Cory in his blue jeans and a red hoodie, as fresh and real a kid as there was, albeit a little geeky at times. And Shawn beside him, in what Turner thought of as the Shawn-uniform because he rarely saw him wear much else. Leather jacket, a flannel shirt at least a size too large over a crumpled t-shirt, ripped jeans. They were like day and night.

"Hey guys! Can you just agree that there are some things about the Green Arrow that suck, and some that are totally awesome? Turner grinned as Shawn got in a last quiet assertion that the Green Arrow was lame. "Hungry Matthews? I'm thinking lunch might shut you up." He looked at Shawn smiling. "What do you say bud?"

Shawn knew what was coming and groaned, "Aw Jon, noooo."

Cory looked nonplussed. "Am I missing something?"

"Shawn cooks." Turner laughed at the boy's embarrassed moan. "He's cooking lunch. What do you say to that Cory?"

Cory stood up and made a play of clapping his hands. "Oh.. yay?"

Shawn groaned again. "I do something nice, this is what I get. I knew I shouldn't have. Now its gonna be _expected._"

"Oh come on Shawn, you do something well you should be proud to do it. Show off for once."

Cory laughed, standing with one hand lightly on Shawn's shoulder. "I know my Shawn can do anything. He says he's an idiot but he's not, he's an _idiot savant_. Of course Shawnie can cook, why wouldn't he? He does a lot of stuff like that. Just not many people see what he does because he doesn't do it for everyone, and that is why he is the coolest guy I know. Say something french Shawn."

"_Quel est le but de l'être, si l'être est si difficile." _Shawn shrugged. "Hell if I know what I said though."

"Twice in one morning Shawn." Turner grinned. "Twice in one morning, you have surprised the heck out of me."

– – – –

Over a lunch of pancakes, that Cory insisted were now officially Shawn-cakes, the friendly bickering banter finally turned to the subject that Turner and Cory both really wanted to talk about. What was really going on with Shawn?

"You let me moan about doing a few chores, when you do two paper routes _and_ work at your Uncles?" Cory shook his head. "I'm an idiot!" He looked incredulously at Shawn. "Why on earth do you have to? What's it for?"

Turner was glad now that Shawn had asked Cory over. The kid could be innocently blunt in a way that Turner couldn't. "Yeah, Shawn, what gives?"

Shawn didn't want to have this conversation but he was trapped between the two people he cared most about. He had to be careful and considered what he was saying, weighing each sentence, each word, with his extrinsic caution. "I've never… I've never had things. I've always been the one who..." He paused and started again, pushing pancake around his plate aimlessly. "I'm not like you Cory. I'm… different. I can't just do chores and get pocket money." He knew any lie told was believable rooted in some truth. "You never had to worry your Mom had driven your home away and wonder how long you'd be able to stay in a motel for. Or if the welfare money didn't stretch far enough this month to keep the lights or TV on. Or just be able to buy something nice for people."

Shawn waved a hand, shushing both Cory and Turner's expected responses. "So I got a job." He made a small snort of laughter. "I got myself three jobs." He turned momentarily and picked up the black beanie Turner had seen him in at Mike's, turning it in his hands. "I saw this, on the way to Uncle Mikes. Cool hat I thought. Girl at the market said it looked right on me. I bought it, with my money." He put the hat on. "Mine. Not some charity hand out, some cast-off. Its _mine_." He pushed his chair back from the counter in a burst of anger. "Everything I have that is mine can be packed into an army duffel bag. My life, in one bag! So I can be moved from one place to the next whenever it suits people. So I wanted to have _something_."

Turner's heart broke a little at the speech. Cory, as ever, was far more pragmatic. "I get that Shawnie. I knew what it means for you. But one hat? You could have bought up a store of hats how much you've been working."

"Maybe I'm saving it mostly. Saving up for a new skateboard. Saving it for a... a… I dunno.. driver's license next year."

The time had come. "So who was the guy on the motorbike Shawn?" Turner said softly. "I had the horrific thought you were doing some drug deal at first. But I know that it wasn't. But a guy skids up to you, you hand him money, he shouts at you, then finally leaves. What is he? Your stock broker?"

Shawn went very still, his face drained. "You _spied_ on me, outside Uncle Mike's?"

"I was concerned for you!" Turner retorted hotly. "Some punk kid on a hulk-green motorbike pulls up to you in the street and you don't think I'm gonna take an interest?"

As Shawn stood up, so suddenly the chair crashed down behind him, Cory looked from his friend to Turner, face aghast. "Green motorbike? Eddie?" he said, "Eddie is out of prison?"

Shawn had had enough questions. The room had closed in on him and he just wanted out. But as quick as Shawn was Cory, for once, was quicker. He ran to the door and spread his arms across it. "No Shawn, not this time. You don't get to leave anytime you decide not to talk to me!"

Shawn snarled and spun on his heel, heading for the fire escape. It didn't matter to him it was four floors up, he had always been a natural climber. After all, it was how he had gotten back inside the apartment that morning. But this time Turner had anticipated the boy's thinking and stood in front of the only other exit Shawn had.

Turner leaned on the window, arms folded. He looked across at Cory, silently thanking him. He looked at Shawn, now stood between both of them. Breathing heavily, shuddering with a barely reined in rage born of frustration and fear, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. He felt that Shawn was inside such a tight ball of tension he was liable to simply explode at any moment. The brilliant blue eyes glared at him, lips a tight, white line.

"Cory? Clue me in here, who is Eddie?"

Cory looked miserable but didn't move. "Sorry Shawn."

The glowering eyes turned in his direction. "Cory. Just. Shut. Up."

"No!" Cory let his arms drop and looked over at Turner, ignoring Shawn. "Eddie is bad news Mister Turner. He's Shawn's half-brother. His dad is Chet, different Mom. He was in prison… but I guess now he isn't. Eddie… Eddie probably would blame both of us for his being there." Cory took another glare. "So, what? Eddie's a reformed character all of a sudden?"

"Shawn..." Turner's head swam with the new information. How had he lived with this kid for a year and not even known he had a half-brother? Why hadn't he probed Feeney more, Feeney doubtless knew, he'd been involved in the lives of Shawn and Cory for years. "I didn't know any of this. Why couldn't you talk to me Shawn?"

He could see the emotional explosion about to happen as it played out across Shawn's face and spontaneously grabbed a pile of unused paper plates from the counter. "Here." He thrust his arm out. "Take them… throw them. Tear them up. Whatever you feel you need to do, please, take it out on the plates."

Shawn grabbed the handful and with a snarl hurled them with all his pent up frustration at the wall. They made a brief fluttering before scattering over the rug, none the worse for their treatment.

"Guess paper plates aren't quite as satisfying as smashing up real ones." Turner said quietly. He saw the pent up tension leave Shawn as the boy visibly sagged, moving to the couch. Shawn sat, leaning on his hands, face hidden.

Cory moved cautiously to sit one side and taking his cue, Turner sat on the other. "You smashed Turner's plates up?" he said in horrified awe. "Wow Shawn."

"Yeah, it was kinda 'wow'." Turner looked at Cory over Shawn's back and grimaced. "You ever want to spring clean, just get Hunter on a bad day." He glanced down at the very still figure between them. "So, Eddie?"

Shawn took his hands slowly from his face and leaned forwards. In a monotone he replied. "Eddie is family, he is my half brother. We have never been close."

Shawn stared at the patch of rug between his feet. There was a piece of silver paper stuck in the pile, probably from a stick of gum. A long, blonde hair from some date of Jon's that had been missed in vacuuming. He concentrated on the tiny details. _What did they want him to say? That if he dared put a foot out of line Eddie would punish him? That Eddie had driven their own father away? That each night he went home the trailer was full of Eddie and his lowlife friends? That Eddie had pinned him down and stubbed his cigar out on Shawn's thigh just because he had found it funny? _

A tiny glint of silver, a single strand of gold. "I just give Eddie some of the money I earn to cover my keep." Silver and gold, lost in the sea of deep green. "The rest of it is mine."

He looked sideways at Turner. "You honestly think I'd do drugs? I'm a screw-up but not that much of one."

"No. I know you're not." Turner tweaked the black beanie. "That girl was right though, that hat sure does suit you."

Cory grinned, glad to be with Shawn and that another storm had passed. He held up his hand, palm forwards. "Oh I bet… did she?"

Shawn smiled to himself for a brief moment before turning and holding out his hand in a mirror image. "She did Cor."

Turner looked puzzled then groaned, "Hunter! You got her phone number?"

"Yeah..." Shawn smiled slightly and leaned back, hands behind his head. "But I didn't call her." He smirked at Turner's raised eyebrows, the old Shawn back, momentarily. "Well, she is twenty five. I figured that may be more of an education than I have the stamina for right now."

– – – –

Talk of girls got Cory wanting to meet up with Topanga so he and Shawn left to walk over to her house. "Call me if you need picking up later Shawn!" Turner yelled after them. He stood for a moment, drumming his fingers on the counter. So many things he did not know about that kid.

On impulse he grabbed his 'phone and dialed Feeney.

"_Hello?_"

"Hey George, its Jonathan, are you going to be in this afternoon for a while? I.. I'd like to have a chat if you're not busy."

"_No, I'm not busy, just re-potting __a weeping fig. It had outgrown its pot and I know it will drop its leaves if its moved around but I know if I give it a little tender care now it will shoot again soon." _There was a brief pause. "_Much like some students. I gather you need to talk about Hunter._"

"Yeah. Some things I've just found out… do you know Eddie Hunter?"

"_Ohhh. Now there is a bad egg. Come as soon as you like Jonathan."_

– – – –

Jonathan accepted the cup of coffee with a nod of thanks. He talked for almost an hour, updating Feeney on everything that had happened from the time he had seen Shawn at Uncle Mike's to the boys leaving. Feeney's house, he reflected, was a lot like the man. Very neat, a little fussy and somewhat old fashioned. He carefully stood the cup on a coaster.

Feeney sighed softly. "Well there is a great deal going on with Shawn that I am not at all happy about. I mean, he cannot keep working at that bike repair shop and still perform at school."

"I know, I will talk to him about that but… I don't know how I'll stop him. I'm not his guardian anymore, Chet is. And Chet…." Turner shrugged.

"Yes… Chet. When Shawn was younger, there was more than one occasion I called in Child Services. Nothing ever came of any of it, except it probably gave Chet enough of a wake up call to try and get his life together. In his own way. At least Shawn stopped appearing with black eyes or scrounging left overs from the cafeteria because he wasn't being fed." Feeney gave a thin smile at Turner's expression. "Oh yes, Shawn, as a child, did not have a good start."

He ticked off on his fingers as he spoke. "Moved between 5 schools, 3 states and has lived in at least 12 different places. A drunken father who would occasionally lash out at him. A mother always on the verge of a nervous breakdown or taking off when things became too much. On and off welfare but more time on that off. A mother who decided to leave taking their home with her and a father who disappeared on the road to follow her. If Shawn didn't have Cory for a friend, and the Matthews, he could have gone down a very different path in life. After all, he had nothing, he had never been raised with any rules or boundaries, he had no respect for authority – he had no trust in adults at all come to that."

Feeney looked warmly at Turner. "I doubted the choice you made, taking in Shawn when his father took off, but in hindsight I am glad I was wrong. Staying with you was the best thing that could have happened to Shawn."

"Thank you George. That means a lot." Turner shook his head. "Sometimes it feels like all the progress I made with Shawn has been somehow destroyed since Chet took him back. And then sometimes I see the real Shawn again."

Feeney raised an eyebrow. "And now you think you saw Eddie Hunter."

"Yeah. Cory gave it away and from Shawn's reaction he was right. But Shawn did not want to talk about Eddie, I mean, his reaction was just as I told you. He wanted out, and when he couldn't get out, he was furious." Turner shook his head. "He would have torn the place up if I hadn't pushed the paper plates onto him."

"You say furious." Feeney looked thoughtful. "I would say probably more so frightened he didn't know how else to channel it. Shawn's first option as you know is always to take off. If he can't do that and feels overwhelmed by whatever situation he is in, he lashes out. He'll destroy something, push people away and probably hurt himself more than anyone else. But he always finds his way to the right path again, or Matthews helps him find his way back."

Turner nodded, smiling. "And that kid goes out, buys groceries, climbs up a fire escape to let himself in, and cooks me breakfast." The smile faded. "What is the deal with this Eddie then? I've never heard Shawn mention him."

"You wouldn't." Feeney closed his eyes briefly. "Eddie… he is completely estranged from Shawn. He is what, 7 years older than Shawn? Left school early, didn't attend particularly when he was there. He lived with his mother not Chet and I know his home life was as equally fractured as Shawn's. But Eddie was the bully, the kid out in the parking lot smoking, the teenager who got expelled for dealing dope, the one who ran with a gang and turned to crime. A young man with a very bad reputation. He's been arrested for fighting, for dangerous driving, for burglary, for vandalism, for so many more things. And finally he gets caught stealing laptops."

"And at last gets put inside for some real time?"

"Oh yes." Feeney was grave. "But the evidence came from a video that Cory had made, catching Eddie in the very act. And Shawn was the one who gave the video to the police. In Eddie's eyes Shawn betrayed him, betrayed family, betrayed the whole Hunter family ethos.

Turner felt chilled. "George… is this kid dangerous? Could he do more than demand Shawn give him money?"

"Only one person can answer that. Shawn."

– – – –

The TV was on but Turner was not watching it with any real attention. He just wanted the background noise whilst he thought about his conversation with Feeney. He wanted to protect Shawn, to try and show the kid that life could be better than everything he'd grown up with. So much different from my own childhood, Turner thought. He'd been raised in a wealthy family and it was his own rebellious nature that led him to leave that behind to be a teacher. But he'd never had to struggle, he'd never had so little in his life that a simple hat was a thing of great importance.

They had to talk.

He started as his front door got pounded, and raced to open it when he heard Cory call his name frantically. "Matthews? What..?"

Cory and Topanga fell into the apartment, holding one another for support. It was obvious Topanga had been crying hard on the way. Cory looked pale and scared, and not far from tears either. "We..." "Shawn.." they both spoke at once.

"Sit." Turner crouched in front of them, alarmed. He passed Topanga a box of tissues. "Cory… where is Shawn? What happened?"

Cory was shaking and nervously took a tissue, slowing ripping it into tiny pieces on his lap. "We were walking to Chubbies, just chatting, fooling about. Me and Topanga were walking in front of Shawn 'cos he stopped to pet a cat."

"He was there, coming out of Chubbies!" Topanga blurted.

Cory held her hand, his face still registering some shock. "Eddie came out of Chubbies and saw me and he had a couple of guys with him. He pointed and shouted that I was dead." Cory shivered again, biting his lip. He had been so frightened he hadn't been unable to move. "Eddie was there, right in front of me, his eyes..." Cory shook his head. "I thought he really did wanna kill me. He shoved me backwards and Topanga fell over, I fell on Topanga. I knew he was going to do something, kick me or… I dunno."

Topanga wiped her face with a damp ball of tissue. "But then Shawn just ran at him." She looked at Turner with wide eyes. "I mean, he literally just ran at him, head first and grabbing Eddie. Shawn punched him Mister Turner, he really punched Eddie."

"Shawn was yelling at Eddie that he wasn't going to let him hurt me or Topanga, and then the guys with Eddie started trying to grab Shawn. It was just awful."

"But Shawn was so brave." Topanga sniffed, finally getting her tears under control. "He was really brave. He stood up to them to defend us."

"Where is Shawn now?" Turner repeated, cold anger seeping through him.

Cory shook his head. "I don't know. Eddie was yelling at Shawn, kept saying 'you've gone too far you runt, this time you're gonna get it' and Shawn managed to somehow pull himself free, kicked Eddie in the leg and said 'not if you can't catch me'. Then he took off, just running, with Eddie and his two guys chasing him. I shouted after him but he yelled back..."

"Go Cory, just go." Topanga finished the sentence quietly. "Mister Turner we came straight here. We didn't know what else to do. But I think Shawn saved our lives. Or at least saved Cory from getting beaten up. And now we don't know where he is."

A deep dread settled on Turner. If anything happened to Shawn… He grabbed his phone. "I'm calling your Dad Cory, he can pick you and Topanga up and take you back to your house. Hopefully Shawn will head there. I'll follow on my bike." Oh Shawnie… please be there little bud.

– – – –

Cory and Topanga sat together in the kitchen, both looking very young and afraid. His worst fear realized, Shawn had not been there, Turner related the story to Amy and Alan, and to Feeney who had turned up to find out what the commotion was about.

"I don't know what to do!" Turner shouted in frustration. "What do I do?"

Alan grabbed his car keys, his face a picture of angry determination. "I love Shawn like he was my son. I'm damned if some punk is gonna beat him up for defending my own son! Amy, you stay here with the kids." He shushed Cory's protest impatiently. "No I know he's your best friend but you've had enough excitement. Stay here. If Shawn gets here, you call us." He looked at Feeney and Turner. "I'll take my car and drive around down town, by the trailer park and anywhere else. Jonathan, you check around the parks and that side. George?"

"I'll get my car. I'll take a route by Chubbies and the school. We'll find him gentlemen, somehow."

– – – –

The hours dragged by, the night darkened into a thunder storm. Cory paced by the window watching the rain lash down, unable to stop thinking that his friend, his best friend ever, was somewhere out there, in the darkness and the storm.

Feeney returned first, shaking his head. "Nothing. Sorry Mister Matthews, Miss Lawrence. Its raining so hard now it was becoming too difficult to see."

It was a similar depressing story from both Alan and Turner as they returned. Dejected, soaked and afraid for the boy he cared about, he took Amy's advice and returned to his apartment in case Shawn turned up there.

Amy pulled both Cory and Topanga into a hug. There was nothing to say. There was only waiting, and hoping.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Still haven't the rights to BMW or its characters. And thanks to Nikkimbt02 for the review :) **

Chapter Six

_Run. _

_That's all you have to do._

_Run._

_Keep running. Keep swerving and climbing and most of all, run._

They had almost caught him once, as he was climbing over a chain fence out of an alley. He had wriggled out of his leather jacket and managed to get away, just. Somewhere he had lost a trainer although he couldn't remember when. He crouched behind a car and kicked his other trainer off. It would be easier to run when he wasn't lopsided. He panted heavily, his heart thudding with the long exertion. He had to lose them soon, or hope the storm made them give up. He staggered to his feet, looking wildly up and down the street. Where to go? Where was safe?

_Just run._

_Anywhere._

He splashed across the road and climbed back over the fence into the skate park. The place was one giant puddle. There was a small metal shelter there though, where he'd made out on more than one occasion. He used the last of his energy to run across the dark concrete, barely able to see with the rain running down his face. He threw himself into the hut, and curled up on the bench. He just needed a few minutes to get his breathing under control.

Hands grabbed his legs, dragging him from his refuge.

"You never learn do you Runt?" There was chilling laughter in the darkness. "I knew I'd find you here."

– – –

"Cory.." Amy pulled her son away from the window. "Its gone 11pm. You need to go to bed."

"I can't Mom. I can't." Cory looked in anguish at his Mom. "Shawn got into trouble to protect me, me and Topanga. "

Alan put the phone down. "Still can't get hold of Chet. There was no one at the trailer, his truck had gone." He slammed his hand on the table in anger. "What the hell kind of father is he? He's just taken off? When he has two sons somewhere out there? How come Chet is never the one out there looking for Shawn?" He sat heavily at the dining table.

"I know." Amy pushed Cory to sit down and poured three more coffees. "Jonathan said much the same thing when I spoke to him on the phone earlier. He been calling anywhere he can think of. But Shawn is nowhere."

– – –

_He didn't know where he was going. He just knew once again that putting one foot in front of the other was important. If he could concentrate on that, he wouldn't hurt so much. He stumbled, balanced himself against a fence, and raised his face to the sky. The rain was cold, but it was numbing, which was good. _

_He shivered and made himself move again. He couldn't think of anything else. Just one stumbling foot, then the next. Forward. _

_He had to know if Cory was safe._

_Move. _

_Time was meaningless. He only knew he had to keep moving, moving away from the pain. Some part of him knew he needed help, but the only important thing seemed to walk. _

_Grass._

_He stopped. Grass was better than tarmac. Didn't hurt his feet so much. One step. Another._

_He stopped again. There was no more grass left. There was no where else to go._

– – –

Amy screamed, startling Cory and Alan. An apparition stood outside their kitchen door, dark head bowed in the rain, swaying. Alan ran to the door and stopped in shock. "Oh my God, Shawn..."

Something registered. The bowed head looked up, the face intensely pale. One eye swollen shut, lips bleeding. One good eye slowly focused. "Don't…. touch… me."

The words were ground out. Alan shook his head, confused. "Shawn, let me help you inside, we need to call the police, get you to a hospital."

"No." A step backwards. "No. Not good. No police. No hospital. Just a fight." Another step backwards. "Wanted. To see. Cory all right."

"I'm good Shawn." Cory walked towards the door, unable to disguise the horror on his face. "You don't look so good though. Dad's right, you need to let him take you to hospital."

Another step backwards. Even though Alan didn't know how Shawn was keeping upright, he didn't want the risk of the boy leaving. "Shawn, just let me help you inside at least."

"Don't touch me." Shawn squinted. "No police. No hospital. Promise." There was a weary hysteria in his voice.

"Okay Shawn." Alan said gently. "We promise. Come in. I'll call Jonathan. Come in son." He stood aside, a look of sorrow on his face as the sodden, beaten boy slowly walked in, his one good eye wary.

Shawn put one hand on the sink to steady himself and stood there swaying. He shivered violently, water slowly pooling around him. "Jon."

Alan picked up the phone. "I'm calling him for you Shawn. He'll be here soon."

Amy came through, carrying towels and a first aid case, her face set with motherly anxiety. "Shawn, honey. You're freezing. Sit down, we need to get you into some dry clothes, see how badly you're hurt."

Shawn shook his head. Bad enough they could see part of what Eddie was capable of. He didn't want them to see the previous times, the older scars. Eddie had made one thing clear before he left Shawn lying in the skate park. Any trouble and next time it would be Cory.

"No!" his voice was raw. "Fine. I will be. Just bruised. Wanted… want to make sure Cory okay."

"I am Shawnie." Cory took a towel from his Mom and handed it to Shawn, watching as he held it to his head for moment. "I'm okay, and Topanga is okay. Her Dad took her home. You are not fine and you need help."

Alan held out his hand to Shawn. "Its okay son. Its okay. No one is going to do anything you don't want. Just go sit on the couch, before you fall over."

Clutching the towel to the side of his head Shawn somehow managed to find the strength to walk the few feet to the couch before collapsing onto it. He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, unable even then to stop shivering. He had no idea how long he'd been running or how long he'd been outside in the storm, but he felt frozen all the way through.

Draping a towel around Shawn's shoulders Amy and Alan swapped worried, helpless glances. Shawn wouldn't let them in and they weren't used to that. Cory came through, carrying a beaker. He sat beside Shawn and held out the cup. "Made you a hot chocolate. With a straw. So you can drink it." He frowned. "I dunno. Might help warm you up."

Shawn took the cup, his hands shaking so much he almost dropped it. He cradled the beaker into his chest, taking a sip. "Thanks." was all he could manage, the effort of speaking through his split lips obvious.

Turner, making record time in his anxiety, burst into the Matthews and went straight to Shawn, crouching in front of him. "Oh Shawn buddy," he said, his voice breaking. "You look like hell."

Shawn managed to raise his head wearily. "Fine. Just bruised. And tired. Lot of running"

The weary disjointed words scared Turner. "Jesus Shawn, how can you say you're fine." Turner shook his head in frustration. He looked at the filthy bare feet and then at the Matthews. "He walked here?" he said incredulously.

"Just appeared outside the back door." Alan replied. "Wouldn't let us call anyone but you."

"How did you get here Shawn? How far did you walk like this?" Turner gently put a hand over each grimy foot trying to rub some warmth into them.

Shawn wished people would stop staring and asking questions. He just wanted to be left alone, to sleep. He sighed, resting his head on his knees. "Skate park. Walked. Don't remember. Just knew had to see Cory okay."

Turner looked at Shawn with a mixture of worry, admiration and love. "You're something else Hunter. And I know you're fine, and you just want to be left alone, but there are some things we gotta do first little buddy." He waited until the pale face raised, blurred with exhaustion. "You're soaked." he said gently. "You need to get into dry clothes at least." One step at a time, that was the only way he knew how to handle Shawn if he was shutting everything out.

"I'll get some clothes." Cory sped away up the stairs, returning minutes later with a pair of boxers, tracksuit bottoms and a thick sweatshirt.

"Thanks Matthews." Turner stood up, taking the beaker of chocolate from Shawn. "Come on, kid. Want me to give you a hand?"

With monumental effort Shawn got to his feet, grabbing the bundle of clothes with shaking hands. "I don't need help." He stumbled to the bathroom, missing Turner's sigh and crushed look. Cory followed Shawn, shrugging an apology.

"I'll sit outside the bathroom Mister Turner. In case he does."

"What can I do Alan?" Turner said plaintively. "I just want to help him, and he pushes me away."

Alan put a hand on his shoulder. "Shawn has always found it hard to trust people. He's been so used to having to look after himself and for the people he cared about leaving him, he doesn't let anyone in easily. But you are great with him Jon. You just follow your instincts."

Cory was back in the lounge several minutes later, carrying Shawn's sodden, filthy clothes. His face was pinched with worry. "Mister Turner, I think you'd better help Shawn. He came out of the bathroom and then just… slid down the wall."

Turner ran through, Alan behind him. Shawn had managed to get himself dressed, but the effort had been the last piece of him left. Still, seeing Turner and Alan, he struggled to his feet, balancing precariously with his hand on the wall. Wild-eyed he stood shaking, Cory's clothes hanging off him, making him seem terribly fragile and young. "I'm fine." He trembled. "I'm fine."

Turner slowly walked towards him. He held his arms out. "You sure about that bud?"

Shawn cracked. "No." he whispered.

And Turner was there to catch him as he fell forwards.

– – –

Alan shooed Cory to bed as Turner carried Shawn back through to the lounge. "Enough!" He said firmly at the protests. "Its late, Shawn will be here in the morning."

Amy put towels over the damp patch where Shawn had sat and watched with concern as Turner laid him down. Shawn was already coming out of his faint and struggled against Turner. Why couldn't they understand, he didn't need their help, he just wanted to be left alone.

Shawn sat up trying to push Turner away. "No!" Turner said forcibly, taking Shawn's arm firmly. "Shawn! Sit still and let us help you!"

At the raised voice Shawn stopped fighting him, the cringing look hard to take. Turner spoke in a gentler tone. "Shawn. You've been out there running yourself ragged, you've managed somehow to walk here in the middle of a storm with half your clothes missing, you've got one hell of a black eye, your nose is crusted with blood, and you're gonna have one hell of a painful mouth. So don't push me away."

Amy squatted in front of Shawn, the epitome of worried motherhood. "Honey, your feet are bleeding a bit, you've cut them on something walking here. I'm just going to patch them up okay?"

Shawn nodded slightly, the desire to run gone in his utter exhaustion. Turner cautiously let go of the boy's arms and took an ice pack from Alan. "Hold this to your face. It might help take some of the swelling down." He cocked his head on one side, keeping Shawn's good eye on his. "I want to report Eddie for this."

"NO." Shawn took the icepack of his face and faced Turner properly. "It was just a scrap. Just a minor punch up in the skate park. Nothing that don't happen there most days. Nothing to interest anyone." He touched his nose, hand coming away with clotting blood. "Its not like I'm about to die here, don't make such a big deal."

Alan sat on the arm of the couch, one hand on Shawn's shoulder. He waited until he got a wary sideways look back. "I don't want to see any kid I care about turning up at my door step beaten up. Eddie did this to you Shawn."

"Actually he didn't." Shawn yawned. "Apart from a couple of punches to make up for the ones I gave him, he sat in the make out hut smoking. It was Devo and the other guy, I don't know him, who gave me this." He pointed to his face. Ironically, the truth. For once when everyone thought Eddie had beat him up, Eddie hadn't. Eddie liked to keep his torture in private and where no evidence could be seen. "Guess the storm saved me from anything worse than a few bruises. Guess they were as tired of being cold and wet as I was."

Shawn leaned back, closing his eyes. "Bruises ain't nothing, that's just how it is. Kids always carry bruises in trailer parks." His voice drifted with tiredness. "Don't matter none. Big kids or little kids, or women, or men. Everyone gets bruises sometime." Unexpectedly he suddenly leaned into Turner's shoulder, the ice pack slipping from his hand. "Jus' wanna sleep Jon. Been runnin' a lot tonight. Can't run nowhere more."

The words, expressed through the outer limits of exhaustion, barely made sense. But Turner was gladdened that for once Shawn wasn't pushing him away. He eased Shawn down, watching as Amy pulled an afghan over him. "Okay Shawn, you've done enough for one night. Sleep buddy." He eased into the space by Shawn's head on the end of the couch. "I'll be here for you in the morning."

An arm snaked over his leg, the boy nestling closer. "Stay wi' me Jon."

Turner held Shawn's hand, careful of the bloodied, bruised knuckles. "All night Shawn." he replied softly as he watched the boy finally give in to sleep. "All night."

– – -

The next morning a worn out Turner sat at the Matthews' kitchen table nursing a cup of coffee, in need of a shave. Amy and Alan sat with him, the discussion as ever, a continuation of the long talk into the night, what to do about Shawn? There were no real answers, there could be no answers until the boy sleeping dead to the world in the lounge woke up.

Some minutes into the conversation Alan shook his head. "I still can't believe that Chet has taken off. How do we deal with that? Shawn isn't going to want to stay with us, or you Jonathan, with Chet leaving without a word. I know what he will say, he will want to go back to the trailer and wait for his Dad to come home."

"But how long will that be? How can he not call to let Shawn know?" Jonathan stared into the coffee, trying to find an answer in the dark liquid. "I wonder..." He looked up, frowning. "When Shawn was at mine he said he had snuck out early to tell his Dad that he would be staying over at mine again. But when he was talking about his Dad, he used the past tense. Did Shawn already know his Dad had left then, and blatantly lied to me about it? Why would he?"

Cory wandered into the kitchen, yawning. He looked at the seated adults slightly astounded. "That's a stupid question. Sorry Mister Turner but it is." He helped himself to juice from the fridge. "Shawn wouldn't tell anyone, he would want to hope that his Dad would come back and keep his promises. He wouldn't want anyone thinking he couldn't look after himself. He would rather stay at the trailer because that way he doesn't feel like he's a guest in somewhere that isn't his home because the trailer is his home."

"Well, isn't this nice." a sarcastic voice came from the lounge door way. Shawn was leaning against the door frame, holding the afghan throw around him. As ever he had lingered quietly after he woke up, hearing the adults talking abut him. He glowered at the room's occupants from his one good eye, the other a puffy purple mess. He freed one hand to push his hair off his forehead, frowning. "Nice that I get discussed while I'm not in the room. You continue talking about me as if I wasn't here, I'll leave you to it." He began an affronted stalk to the front door. He didn't need this, people talking like he was some project, some problem.

Jonathan jumped to his feet, grabbing Shawn by the arm. "Stop," he said firmly. "Where on earth do you think you're going in that state?" He dragged the resistant boy into the kitchen and pushed him into the chair he had recently vacated. "Your feet are in bandages from walking here last night. You need to keep putting ice on that eye. You're in Cory's clothes and have no sneakers, no coat, no hat, nothing. You _cannot_ go anywhere."

Shawn sighed, knowing the sense in the words but hating the fact he had to face this situation. Out of all the facts Turner had put to him one had more importance. "Yeah, nothing about sums me up. Nothing. Nothing important. Don't even have my hat. That was mine. Now that's gone too. I don't know why I bothered trying to have something. Maybe its better to be nothing and to have nothing, 'cos then you can't be attached to things and have them taken from you."

"You have me Shawn." Cory said quietly, arms folded with determination. "Shawn and Cory, right? You're not nothing, you're my best friend. You don't have nothing, you have me as your best friend. That isn't nothing."

"No… no that is something." Shawn gave a lopsided half smile at Cory. He appropriated Turner's half drunk coffee and sipped it, wincing as the warm liquid hit his split lips. "You're right though Cory. The trailer is my home. And my Dad _will_ come back. He just has to."

Alan stood to put his hand on Shawn's shoulder. The boy's faith in his father was misplaced but probably that was all Shawn had to cling onto. That one day Chet would be able to keep a promise and be there for the son who yearned for him.

He felt fatherly towards his son's troubled friend, but he didn't have the experience of dealing with such a tormented teen. When his kids were in trouble they knew they could come to him, that he would be there for them. Shawn had never had that, and had no idea how to react when faced with it. He didn't have Cory's security and Shawn didn't have the surety in his emotions to reveal his problems or inner thoughts because he'd been left to deal with them by himself all his life. His parents were far too involved in dealing with their own problems to pay attention to what their son was doing. Chet's current absence was testimony to that.

"Shawn, you know you're welcome here. If you want a place to stay until your Dad comes back. I mean, do you know how long he is going to be away this time?" His voice rose slightly although he tried to keep his anger at Chet in check. "A day, a few nights? A week? A year?"

Shawn flinched, the question one that had been running through his head like a background noise ever since he had returned to the trailer and found out he no longer had a father there. "I don't know… its not like he's bothered calling me." he replied bitterly.

"So why did you lie to me Shawn?" Turner shook his head, not quite in disgust but close to it. "I can't believe you sometimes."

"Yeah, well, you knew I'd disappoint you at some point." Shawn made to get up but was pushed firmly back by Alan. He subsided at the stern look he got and went back to slowly sipping the coffee. The growing silence, and having so many eyes regarding him, made him edgy and nervous. He pushed the cup away abruptly, his lips too sore to want any more. "I lied because I didn't want this." He gestured at everyone. "I lied because..." He pushed his hands through his hair. "I lied..." He couldn't bring himself to say the words.

Cory pulled a chair up to the table so he was opposite Shawn. Too many people were standing over his friend. He peered into Shawn's eye and nodded slightly. "You can tell them Shawn. That's Turner, he is your friend, he cares about you. They're my parents, they care about you. Tell them. They're not mad at you."

Shawn pushed his hands through his hair and then rested his elbows on the table. He didn't want to see their faces, to see the disappointment that he had failed and screwed up, so much so not only had his Dad left, he'd left him with Eddie. Maybe his Dad thought that was what he deserved. His voice was low and spiritless when he finally spoke.

"I came home from school and saw his truck was gone. So I sat and waited, thinking he'd gone out into town, or was doing some work on the side. I just sat and watched TV. Eddie was at least paying so we had that, and was putting in for the electric. And it got late so I fell asleep on the couch." Shawn paused, missing out the part where Eddie, angry at Shawn leaving the TV on that he, Eddie, was paying for, gave him the usual punishment for transgression. A carefully considered, and thoroughly enjoyed by Eddie, beating. Eddie had found lots of interesting ways to punish Shawn.

"Dad didn't come home that night. Or the next, or the next. But I'd sit up and wait for him as long as I could. And when he didn't call I'd wonder what it was I'd done wrong. I lied because I had to be there. If I had to sit up for a hundred more nights I would. If Dad came home and I wasn't there, if the trailer was empty… He might think I didn't love him anymore, and just drive off with the trailer an' all. And I can't go through that again. So yeah." He looked up defiantly. "I did lie. I haven't seen Dad for a few weeks."

"Oh Shawn." Amy stood beside Alan and looked down at the sullen face. "You should have told someone."

"Yeah Shawn." Alan put his arm around his wife. "You should know, you are always welcome in our home." He saw the boy's reaction and regretted his choice of words.

"Yeah… your home. Not mine." Shawn's hands made eloquent movements, taking in the fridge, the kitchen, the people standing there. "We all know how well that worked out."

Jonathan could feel his frustration rising and tried hard to quell it but it wasn't easy faced with Shawn's innate defensive, stubborn nature."So come stay at mine then. What is the difficulty here Shawn? You're fifteen! You think staying down at that god-awful trailer park is better than staying with me?" Like Alan, he wished he could edit what he had said.

The pale, bruised face turned to stare up at him with cool anger. "That 'god-awful trailer park' is where I grew up and where my home is." The words were measured, but everyone could see Shawn's nostrils flare with the effort of not exploding. "Its where most of my family settled into at one time or other. I'm sorry it is so beneath you."

"That isn't what I meant Shawn. I'm sorry." Turner held his hands up. "Sorry. OK? But what about Eddie, what about if he decides to have another fight with you?"

Shawn snorted, hands running through his hair in agitation. "So Eddie doesn't much like me, and I don't much like him. Big deal. As long as I give him money for keep, and he keeps paying enough bills, I can handle it. One of the things Dad said before he left was -" Shawn's voice fell into an accurate Chet impression, which sounded weird coming from someone so slightly built. "You're both ma sons, and I guess we can all get along. Start acting like we was a family."

_Some family. An alcoholic, a sadist and a screw-up._

– – –

Cory moved to lean against the kitchen sink as the argument went back and forth and around and around. Nobody was getting anywhere, he thought. The more the adults pushed their point of view onto Shawn, the more he retreated into antagonistic stubbornness.

From his viewpoint he could suddenly empathize with how Shawn felt. Shawn was the only one sitting, two adults looming over him on the left, one on the right. Looking down on him, talking over him, in his space. Shawn Hunter was raised by wolves, Cory thought randomly. This is the same as putting him in a cage, a cage of people. I have to fix this, I have to do something. But what? He was the one who pulled Shawn back from whatever dark places his friend's thoughts sometimes took him. He was the one whom Shawn had risked himself for magnificently to protect.

Shawn had protected him against three mean big people. It was time he protected Shawn from three well-meaning big people.

"Stop! Just stop already." The three adults turned in surprise at Cory's interruption as he took a few paces towards the group. His face determined Cory waved his hands to encompass his parents and Turner. "Will you all just stop badgering Shawnie for like, ten minutes? Can't you see what you're doing? I can." Cory was gladdened to see the look of pure relief Shawn shot him.

"Come on, just chill, please, all of you. Its a Sunday, a fine day for everyone to chill out." he pleaded. "You're being overwhelming." Cory nodded as the three adults swapped guilty looks, finally realizing. "All of you, just sit down."

Amazed they actually did so, Cory gave a thin smile. "I know you all want what is best for Shawn, but you're going about it all wrong." _Wolves don't like to be caged. _"If Shawn doesn't want to live here, or at your place Mister Turner, what are you going to do? Lock him in? Its not that he doesn't like hanging out either place, but you can't make him stay if he doesn't want to. Mom, Dad… Shawn couldn't stay here again for the same reasons it didn't work last time. Sometimes he just needs to be out and running and howling at the moon and drinking from cartons and eating ice cream for breakfast and making a mess and… and doing all the things wolves need to do."

Cory on a fixing-things mission was a sight to see, thought Turner. The kid was an earnest force of nature. "That's not a solution Matthews."

Cory fixed his stare on Turner sternly. "No. But neither is staying with you permanently if you can't see how important being able to be at the trailer is for Shawn." He turned his gaze to Shawn and sat opposite his friend, pulling Shawn's hands down from where they were entangled in his hair. "And neither is staying at the trailer by yourself with Eddie drifting in and out."

Shawn's one good eye looked back wearily. "So what then Cor? What do I do?"

Cory leaned back with some satisfaction. "You compromise." he said simply, wondering why no one else seemed to see it. "I keep my window open and you can come and go knowing you're always welcome here, should you need a temporary refuge. You can stay at your trailer and wait for your Dad to return. But -" Cory paused, looking directly at Turner. "You give Shawn a key to your place. So his home can be in two places at once. And you -" This time he pointed at Shawn. "You stay at Turner's place when you don't want to be on your own, when it gets too much too handle, when you just want to hang out somewhere that you know you're gonna be safe in. And most importantly Shawnie. Never forget these people _care._" Cory snapped his gaze enquiringly from one to the other. "So? We have a compromise here?"

Alan was the first to speak, after a short pause. "Yes. Yes of course." He looked across the table at Shawn. "You're always welcome here Shawn, whether its through the window or one of our actual doors."

Amy put a hand on her husband's shoulder and smiled gently. "And if you need a Mom to talk to, I'm here."

There was a longer pause as Turner and Shawn regarded one another seriously. Turner wrestled with his desire to keep Shawn from harm and knowledge that, for once, Cory was right. Shawn felt such a strong need to be in the one place he still felt he had some connection to his missing father that nothing short of locking the boy in would keep him in any other place.

"Okay. Okay. Its not ideal but… okay." Turner dug in his pocket and pulled out his key fob, deftly removing the spar key to the apartment. "Here Shawn. Its the one you had last time. Take it." Turner gave a brief grin. "I'll no doubt have to get another half a dozen copies made if you're as good at losing keys as you were before."

Shawn's hand crept across the table but stopped short of taking the key. "You sure about this? He asked, face tilted towards Turner. "I mean… I not exactly easy to live with, you know that. And.. You can be cool about me wanting to still stay at the trailer?"

Turner shrugged. He had no idea how this plan of Cory's would work, but it was better than the endless arguing. "You're a pain in ass Shawn, but I still love you little bud." It was true, Shawn was more than his student, but not quite his son… he was more like a younger brother.

As Shawn took the key from him Turner became serious. "But Shawn, we gonna have to set a few basic ground rules down here." He saw the boy become still and move back on his chair, the key the only animated part of him, dancing between his fingers. "Okay, not rules… lets just call them a few promises we both agree to?" The dancing key slowed and stopped.

"Promises?" Shawn raised an eyebrow. "So I have a say too?"

Turner grinned. "Yes. So, one. You want to have a say, you agree to talk to me about anything that is bugging you. Two. If you're not coming home you call me and just keep me in the loop where you are. Three. You drop some of the hours you're working." He forestalled Shawn's protest. "No. You've got to Shawn. Get your grades back up, then we'll discuss it again. And that is number four. Stop skipping school, stop skipping classes." Turner leaned in to Shawn. "And five. Don't lie to me about important stuff. Think you can promise all that Hunter?"

Shawn dropped his gaze from Turner's, one hand tracing the ring of the coffee mug, the other letting the key dance back and forth again. He wasn't even aware of doing these things, he was just giving each point consideration, and wondering how he could promise anything when he'd kept the important part about Eddie hidden.

Turner sat back and watched the boy's hands betray his inner perturbation. He could only imagine what demons lurked in Shawn, caused by a childhood of neglect.

Shawn looked at Turner finally, one eye barely open, the other a pensive blue window. "I can promise to try."

"Maybe that will do, for now." Turner grinned widely. "So come on Hunter. What have I got to promise?"

Cory laughed, happy that his hasty plan had brought some resolve. "Yeah Shawn, stick it to him!"

Shawn rolled his eyes at Cory and turned back to Turner, deliberating for a moment. Finally he spoke. "One. Don't yell at me unless I do something majorly stupid. Two. Don't criticize my Dad in front of me ever again. Three. Don't expect too much of me. Four. Don't lie to me either. And five." Shawn paused for breath, the previous words having been rushed out. "Five. Don't leave."

Looking into the beseeching face Turner thought it was honestly the most poignant list of promises he'd even been asked to make. He could see Amy turn her face into Alan's shoulder and knew she had been upset by the very simple, yet tangled with so much complexity, requests. "I promise you Shawn." he said solemnly. "I will do everything I can to not let you down."

– – –

"_I look like a dork!"_

Turner grinned at the fierce whisper. Shawn had gone to shower and returned in another set of borrowed clothes from Cory. "_Its not that bad."_

Cory re-entered the lounge holding a pair of sneakers. "Found a pair that should fit you Shawn. They were Eric's but he hasn't worn these ones in ages." He smiled with delight at Shawn. "Oh, look at us. My hoodie brother."

Shawn looked up at Turner, pleadingly. _See? _ The unspoken message was clear in his expression.

Turner relented. Shawn couldn't look dorky, but he was right, Cory's clothes were all Mom-approved and were so very not Shawn. "Thanks Mister Matthews. You're a good kid. Right now though, I'm gonna take Shawn down town and get him some replacement clothes. I'll get your stuff back to your Mom as soon as I can."

Shawn stared at him agog. Cory however looked excited and clapped his hands. "Ah, clothes shopping. Let me come with you, I know some of the best places to get clothes."

"No!" Both Shawn and Turner spoke in unison and burst out laughing.

"Sorry Matthews," Turner replied grinning, "only room for one on the back of my bike." This is going to take a dent out of my salary this month, but the kid's got to have something to wear.

As it happened, and to Turner's relief, his pay check didn't take a hammering at all. Shawn had rarely had new clothes bought for him, and the act of going clothes shopping was so new, and so intimidating in all its price labels, that he'd shied away from the main stores. Instead they had gone to the markets, to the thrift stores and charity shops. That is where Turner had seen Shawn blossom into the confident, unashamed kid he had known. Flirting with the volunteers in a charity shop, making up outrageous stories about how he'd come to have a black eye.

Finally they went back to the apartment, where the first thing Shawn did was to head for the bathroom to change out of his dorky, lovable friend's clothes. Turner sat on the couch, not bothering to put the TV on but simply listening to the sound of Shawn's distracted, happy singing.

Cory's borrowed clothes were thrown out of the door in a heap, followed by Shawn peeking his head through with a shy grin.

Turner leaned on the side of the couch so he could see. "Come on then Hunter, let's see the new you."

Shawn edged out of the bathroom and Turner raised his eyebrows. "Going for the full on grunge look then?" He waited as Shawn shoved his feet into the worn-in boots they had picked up at an army &amp; navy store, and scuffed his way across the room, not bothering to tie the laces.

"Whad'ya think?" Shawn stood. Hands on hips, at once defiant and bashful.

I'm betting the girls are going to be all over you, Turner thought. Skinny black jeans from a thrift store that the young woman serving had insisted were genuinely worn by a 1970's punk. Black t-shirt with an oversized plaid shirt, replacement black beanie on his head. And a second plaid shirt tied about his waist. Turner laughed. "Why the two shirts?"

"Couldn't decide which one to wear, so I wore 'em both." Shawn grinned. He hadn't felt this way in such a long time. The simple pleasure of having things, of finding a look he liked, it had, for him, been a very good day. He looked at Turner earnestly. "I will pay you back for getting all the stuff for me today."

"Get your grades up. That would be repayment enough." Turner couldn't remember when he'd last seen Shawn so happy. A bunch of second hand clothes and a leather jacket from a thrift shop that was worn in just how Shawn liked, and that Turner was a little jealous of. Not much, but it was like seeing a kid on Christmas morning. "You're going to be inundated with dates you turn up at school like that."

Shawn's grin grew wider. "As long as you don't want all their Mom's phone numbers."

"Cheap shot Hunter." Turner and Shawn both grinned and then looked at one another as they heard a knock at the apartment door.

"Cory." they said in unison.

"Shawnie!" Cory bounced into the room and stopped. "Whoa." He did an exaggerated circle of Shawn. "What did you do, join a rock band?"

Both Shawn and Turner laughed. "No," Shawn replied, "we just went out and got some clothes. Some very interesting girls work in thrift stores Cor."

"Well, you do look as if several people have worn your clothes before you. But you do look..." Cory paused, "comfortable. I hope you didn't apply the same principle to buying… um… underpants?"

"Relax Matthews." Turner tossed over a can of soda. "Those were all bought from the market."

Cory raised an eyebrow enquiringly at Shawn. "Oooh, market stall girl sold you hat and pants?"

"That she did Cory." Shawn smirked. "She was very knowledgeable about what boxers I should wear."

"Shawn!" Turner raised his hands. "She's ten years older than you! You shouldn't be flirting with her."

The boy looked back at him shrewdly. "And she is ten years younger than you, so you shouldn't have been flirting with her either Jon." Shawn grinned widely, pointing at Turner. "Hands off my woman you blaggard!"

– – –

For a few precious weeks life wasn't all that bad for Shawn. It had a strange circulatory routine to it. School, home, work, Turner's or the Matthew's. He didn't hear from his Dad, and that buzzed about the back of his head like a fly. He couldn't entirely avoid Eddie either, even though the time he spent at the trailer was briefer each day. Sometimes he would turn up at Turner's or school limping, and would always have a valid reason as to why.

Eddie had found he liked tormenting Shawn, it was a way of relieving the tension in his own life. The day Eddie had discovered he had a half-brother, was the day he stopped catching strays. He used to take the strays to an empty lot or abandoned building and would slowly, systematically, torture them to death. Who noticed the loss of strays? As far as Eddie was concerned the stray cats or dogs he had taken were no different to the half-brother he called Runtboy. The only difference was he had to be more circumspect in how he injured the other, to inflict pain but not leave any traces that would alert people to interfere in his world.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own a car, I don't own BMW in any shape or form. And grateful thanks to my reviewers Nikkimbt02, katetierw80 and the mystery guest. I'll keep updating as I get chapters written, between working and intrusions from life stuff. So please don't give up on me if there are momentary delays in transmission! Next chapter is almost ready, just need time to tweak.**

Chapter 7

Cory slammed his locker shut with a sigh. Another weekend over, another Monday and the start of another long week of school. When he still had so much relaxing and video gaming to catch up on! His face broke into a huge smile as Topanga turned the corner. "To-pang-GAH!" he cheered, wrapping his arms around her. "May I say you are looking very fine on this Monday morning?"

Topanga smiled up at her boyfriend, flicking her hair. "So you noticed?"

"You have had a haircut? I didn't notice, but you always look especially fine to me." Cory looked hopeful. "Cory gets kisses now?"

Topanga was about to respond when Cory pushed her to one side, hand up in a ready high-five. "My Shawn!"

"Hey Cor." Shawn obliging high-fived, then slouched against his own locker. "You're an idiot Cor. You gonna leave 'Panga hanging like that?" He grinned as Cory remembered the request of kisses and spun around to envelope Topanga in another hug. Cory was infectious in a good mood and Shawn felt himself drawn in to the silly banter. "Jeez you two, you're more married than half the couples in the trailer park."

As they broke apart, giggling, a slim red-headed girl walked down the stairs and approached Shawn. She stopped for a moment and looked Shawn up and down.

Oooh, thought Cory. Joanne Honeywood, known to all the guys as Honeypot. There was no one hotter than Honeypot, and she was in the year above them. He looked at his best friend, who continued to slouch with seeming disinterest that a very beautiful girl was standing near him. Cory knew Shawn had not been short of offers since he'd returned to school with fading bruises and wearing his edgy new look. Topanga had explained it to him. _All girls love someone who looks a bit of a bad boy, a bit of a tortured soul. _Do you think I'm a bad boy? He had asked her. _No you goof, I love you 'cos you're Cory. _But Shawn had only dated a few of the girls he'd had offers from, and then only briefly. Obscurely, it didn't decrease the amount of girls who still wanted to try and capture Shawn's heart.

Cory watched as Shawn glanced over at Joanne. "Oh hey. Joanne, what's up?" Ah, the key to getting girls, doing absolutely nothing and letting them come to you. Strange that had never worked for him!

"Shawn… I've seen you about. You've gotten kinda noticeable of late. There has been a lot of talk in the girls room about you." Joanne moved closer, Cory unable to stop himself sneaking an admiring glance at her legs. "I recently broke up with Jason… I am so done with jocks now. They put sport and their pig team mates before their girlfriends. They're just brainless."

Shawn turned to her, still leaning on his locker, and gave a quirky smile. "I've skipped every sport lesson since I started High School. I found there are more interesting things to do."

"Oh? Like what?"

The smile turned into a wide grin. "Like girls."

Cory flinched as Topanga hit him in the arm. "Stop staring you idiot!" she hissed. "I'm going to class, don't be too late!"

Joanne sidled closer and took a pen from her pocket. Her perfume filled Shawn's senses with cut grass and flowers. "I'm having a party Friday night, I'd like you to be there. And if you want to… you know... get to know me a little better before Friday, here's my number."

As she sauntered off, Shawn turned to Cory his eyebrows raised. "Tell me Cor, am I dreaming or did Honeypot just give me her number?" At Cory's affirmative Shawn smiled to himself, looking at his hand. Maybe it was going to be a good week. Maybe he could forget Sunday ever happened.

It was as though Cory had some channel into his thoughts. "Say Shawnie, what happened to you Sunday? I thought you were going to come over mine." He watched Shawn closely. He hadn't been as worried about his friend keeping things to himself so much the past few weeks, but there were still times when Shawn went inside his own dark thoughts and became distant, still occasions when he didn't turn up places, or skipped classes. When confronted his only answer had been a shrug. _You didn't expect me not to screw up surely? I'm trying, don't ask me to do more than that._

Shawn studied the numbers on his hand, knowing Cory would be giving him that look of concerned responsibility. "I felt… I had to just stay at the trailer. Sorry, I should've called." He briefly looked up as the bell rang. "Turner will be pissed at me for not calling him either." Shawn pushed himself off the locker and couldn't quite conceal the small grimace. Again, the Cory look of question. He quickly covered it with a grin. "In truth, I was trying to fix my bed most of Sunday. The baseboard finally gave up on me Saturday night and waking up falling through your bed is not cool. Landed on my shoulder in a pile of boards." He laughed, heading towards class. "It probably looked like a scene from America's Funniest Home Videos."

As both boys took their seats Shawn's smile faded and he calmed his racing thoughts by repeatedly tracing the numbers on the back of his hand with his finger. It hadn't been entirely untrue. He had gone back to the trailer Saturday night, again on the off-chance there would be a call, or a letter, anything from his Dad. He had been pretty sure Eddie wouldn't be there, Saturday nights being what he called his _business hours._

He had been right, mostly. But whatever criminal act Eddie had been out doing had gone awry so he had returned to the trailer at 2 am, angry, frustrated and wanting an outlet. And Shawn, asleep, had no idea until he woke up when Eddie grabbed him from his bed and threw him against the wall. He could still feel the heat from the lighter burning his calf as Eddie pinned him down. It hadn't quite been a lie about the bed. He had fallen through his bed, with the force that Eddie had thrown him onto it. As he'd lain there, not daring to move, pieces of broken wood digging into him, Eddie had given a snort of humorless laughter. _"Damn, should have had a video camera on that one. Could've won chunk of cash for that."_

– – – –

Turner wrote on the blackboard. **_Who is responsible for this mess? _**He turned back to his class. "Okay, so in your last essays it was clear some of you have forgotten some basics. So we're going back to Adjectives and Prepositions people." He ignored the groans and picked up the chalk to write again, but paused. Something was off-key with Hunter today but he couldn't quite put a finger on what it was, other than the kid hadn't actually made any smart-ass remarks all lesson and was staring down, lost in some inner Shawn place. Turner quickly wrote another sentence. _**I am really bad at expressing myself clearly**._

"Who can tell me what the adjectives or prepositions are in any of the sentences I've written." Predictably Topanga's arm was first up, her face confident and eager. Turner sighed. "Anyone other than Topanga for a change? Hunter? You want a shot at this?"

Shawn raised his head, blinking. "Huh?"

It was frustrating beyond words. Turner knew Shawn wasn't the best student, but he knew when the kid actually did the work he could be surprisingly good. "No, Hunter, '_huh_' is not the answer. If you actually tried paying attention you might learn something."

His lecture was halted by Feeney entering the classroom, his manner somewhat agitated. "Mister Turner my apologies for interrupting but this is… this is rather unfortunately pressing. I need you, and Mister Hunter, to come with me now, to my office."

Shawn immediately straightened, his face wary and tense. "I ain't done nothing." he protested.

Why does he always lapse into trailer park speak when he's stressed, Turner thought randomly, then turned to Feeney. "George," he said quietly, "what is this about?"

"Not here." Feeney replied. He raised his voice to address the class. "Mrs Fenton will be along in a moment to cover the rest of this class, until she gets here, behave. Mister Hunter, with me please."

Shawn picked up his bag slowly. He caught the twin stares of Cory and Topanga and shrugged. He didn't know what he'd done wrong to be pulled from class, but the pity on Feeney's face was unnerving.

– – – –

As Feeney opened his door he looked at Shawn sadly. "I'm so sorry my boy."

Turner caught the panicked look of confusion Shawn gave him and put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm here Shawn."

When they entered the room Turner thought if he hadn't still had his hand on Shawn's shoulder the kid would have turned and been off like a shot. If there was one thing Shawn could do, it was instantly know a cop, even one not in uniform. The guy was slightly older than Turner, his hair a growing out crew cut, and even if his suit jacket was hiding the badge hooked on his belt, Shawn knew this was a cop.

A petite woman in her forties sat across one side of the room, casually dressed in jeans and a white shirt, plastic name badge pinned to her chest. She leaned forwards on the chair. "Its okay Shawn, please sit down." She waited until Shawn had perched himself on the very edge of the opposite chair, noting that Turner had automatically took a stance leaning against the closed door. She'd had a feeling that this kid was a runner. "My name is Emma Sanders, I'm from the Appropriate Adult Services, we work with the police department when there is involvement with teenagers. You can call me Emma, or Ms Sanders, whichever makes you more comfortable."

There was no reaction from Shawn to this, his eyes flicked constantly between Feeney, behind his desk, to Turner, at the door. The look of confusion had been replaced by a fearful pleading, wanting one of the only two adults in the room he knew to somehow explain, to make this right.

Emma continued, her voice gentle. "This is Detective Farrell." That sure got a reaction she thought. The very word detective and the boy had started like he'd had an electric shock. "What we are here to tell you Shawn is not going to be easy, but I am here to support you through this."

Turner stirred impatiently. "Okay, what the hell is this about? I'm not aware of Shawn being in any kind of trouble that would involve the law, or the need to appoint him someone from A.A.S."

"I understand you are acting as his guardian presently?" At Turner's nod, Emma paused. "I'll talk to you later also. As will Detective Farrell." There was a longer pause as she steeled herself for what she had to say. It was probably better to break it to the teenager here, in a room with two people he knew, than at the station in a more formal setting. Emma got up and walked over to Shawn, crouching in front of him, noting how he flinched back like she was going to bite him. "Shawn, there is not an easy way to say this but first believe me when I say, you can trust me." She didn't expect any change in the boy's demeanor to that. "Shawn… I am sorry to be the one who has to tell you, but Chet Hunter's body was recovered early yesterday morning from inside Valley Park. Shawn… I am so very sorry to have to tell you this, but your father is dead."

Feeney lowered his head. He had found Chet an intimidating man and his sorrow was all for his student. To lose a parent in any circumstance for a child was hard enough, but to find out in such a way, for someone who had already dealt with so much, it was tragic.

"Oh Shawn. God. I'm so sorry." Turner ran his hands over his face. He hadn't expected this. Why couldn't the world cut this kid a break once in a while? On hearing the final, slamming word 'dead' Shawn's eyes had widened into two shocked blue pools, confused and hurting. Then he'd squeezed them shut, his mouth a tight, thin line and gone very, very still. Only the white knuckles furiously gripping the chair arm rests and tremors that vibrated through his body betrayed the real amount of distress he was feeling. For a moment the only sound in the room was that of Shawn's rapid breathing through his flaring nostrils and Turner knew that Shawn had gone deep inside himself, to the dark secret place only Shawn could reach, and was fighting a battle of emotion internally. Trying to keep it private and away from the strangers he did not trust.

Turner felt heart broken. First Virna leaves Shawn, for who knew where. Now his father taken from him forever. He knew Shawn's trust in any adult was a fragile thread that could easily unravel and he hoped this hadn't now severed the relationship they had started rebuilding. Especially at a time when Shawn needed him more than ever before.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Rights - Me 0, Disney/ABC All. Thanks to reviewers old and reviewers new (Nina, Magda, Daisy, Pippy &amp; Bagels&amp;Broadway) Chapter 9 will be started on Monday. **

Chapter Eight

_My father is dead. _Shawn tried to make sense of the words, tried to cope with the clashing desire to deny the words could be true, and the anguished loss at the thought the words were true. _Dad's dead. Dad's dead. Dad's dead. _It buzzed in his head like a trapped fly, over and over. His Dad was dead, he had never abandoned his son after all. Only now he was permanently abandoned. There was no more hope of a call or a letter, or that he would come home. He was alone.

He had always felt he was alone. Now he would be, forever. Dad would never come back. He would never drink another beer, or watch another football game. He would never spin another tall story or win a hand of poker. And he would never hug his son again, or call him Slimjim.

Shawn felt as though his whole body was vibrating and tried to control it but all the time the thought flew around and around. _Dad is dead and I'm alone. Dad is dead and I'm alone._

Then something jarred the thoughts, interrupted their endless panicked cycling. What did they mean his body was recovered? Shawn let this question grow and didn't like the dark bloom that flourished. He opened his eyes slightly to look at Emma. "You _found _my Dad's body."

Interesting, thought Emma, he hasn't reacted in any of the ways kids usually do. No tears, no rage, no denial. No demands of How? Are you sure? Why? In fact no question at all, just the affirming statement. "Yes Shawn. Your father's body was found in the Valley Park."

"Two hikers were out in the woods with their dog." Farrell added, his eyes intent and watchful, noting everything. "Early yesterday morning the police recovered the deceased and cordoned off the area." He ignored the look of distaste that both Turner and Emma gave him.

Emma sighed inwardly as she saw Shawn's eyes close again at Farrell's harsh words. She could usually read the kids she had to work with but this one was not giving her the reactions she was expecting.

Shawn went back into his own dark world, trying in his mind to make some sense in the maelstrom of emotion and confusion. His Dad was dead. For them to come here and tell him, his Dad had to be dead. Gone. Forever. He had never felt so completely lost and alone.

And his Dad had been lying dead, unknown to him, in a woods. It was good he hadn't run out on his son after all. It was bad that he was dead, and the abandonment would never end. And for those two, the cop with the hard eyes and the chick who would pretend to be on his side but was on their side. For them to come it was not just bad enough for his Dad to be dead, it was something more. It was… Shawn felt something inside him tear. It was super bad.

He opened his eyes again. "My Dad… you think something bad happened. You don't think it was some accident… you think…" Shawn hesitated, swallowing back the sudden taste of bile. "You think my Dad was somehow killed." he whispered. "That's why he's here." Shawn gave a slight nod at Farrell, standing just off to the side. "And if you're here..." Shawn hesitated again, face very still and pale, eyes half closed. He'd had previous involvement with the A.A.S. When he had been caught blowing up the mail box, riding Turner's motorbike… a kid in custody had to have an A.A.S with them.

In a soft, disbelieving voice he asked one question. "Why do you want to take me in?"

Emma put a hand on Shawn's leg, then quickly took it away as the boy flinched from her touch. I've not had my cootie shots, she thought at random. "Shawn, listen, Detective Farrell is not here to take you in. There are just some questions he needs to ask you. You just have to come down to the station so he can interview you and answer a few questions. That is all."

"This is a murder investigation." Farrell stated blandly. "We have to interview anyone who has a connection to Chet Hunter." He couldn't understand why they were tip-toeing around this punk kid, who'd been in trouble with the police enough times during his 15 years to know exactly how it worked. He'd been through Hunter's file and his conclusion was that this was another trailer park hood who had managed to pretty much get away without punishment for a series of misdemeanors in the past due to his age, or having better people around him to bail him out of trouble.

A tiny half-whimpered moan escaped Shawn before he trapped it. He was unable to stop his hands from finally escaping though and they went up to his face pushing themselves deep into his hair. Turner could see the boy slowly unraveling before his eyes. He went over and tried to put a reassuring hand on Shawn's shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" Shawn snarled, flying out of the chair and pushing past Emma. He paced the small confines of Feeney's office, in no pattern just a zig-zagging journey that matched his jumbled thoughts.

They've taken Shawn from me. They've broken him and taken away what little trust he had chosen to place in a few adults. Turner went back to standing by the door and swapped a look across the room with Feeney. His own heart ache was reflected back at him. Well, Turner thought, great job the pair of you. Now its Shawn against the world and he falling apart. He's a kid who looks like someone has just drained the blood out of him, tracking back and forth on the side of the room the adults weren't in like a cornered wild animal, not far from complete panic.

"What about Shawn's brother, Eddie?" Turner asked.

Farrell shrugged. "Interviewed, had an alibi for the 25th. Was at his girlfriend's, there was a party. Interviewed as many of the party goers his girlfriend could recall were there and they all corroborated this. Surprisingly co-operative for a Hun..." Farrell had the decency at least to cut off the last part of his sentence. "He's been living with his girlfriend for a while now, hadn't contacted Chet Hunter since he moved in with her. She confirmed that Eddie was living with her and that he was estranged from the situation with the rest of his family at the trailer park."

"And you are 100% sure, beyond all doubt, that it is… was… Chet Hunter?" Feeney didn't want Shawn to be put through any more of this if there was even a glimmer of doubt.

"Identified through dental records, drivers license and his brother… Mike, he came to the station and identified both the deceased and various effects recovered as belonging to the deceased." Farrell's patience, limited already, gave out. "Can we get this over with? He needs to come with me to the station to be interviewed."

"I'm still here!" Shawn exclaimed, stopping his pacing briefly, hands outstretched. He was visibly shaking now. "Stop talking about me like I'm not here. And stop talking about my Dad like he's a.. a.. thing!" His hands flew up to his face and then resumed their anxious knotting in his shirt.

The blue eyes that stared at Emma were so bleakly radiating their hurt it was her turn to flinch back, to look away. "Farrell. Give the boy a break here, just can it."

"Don't pretend to care lady." Shawn shot at her, a strange look of ferocity and wild fear in his eyes. "He's a cop. He's an asshole but he's a cop, at least I know what he is. I've had you people before. Trust you? Hah! You're still police underneath all the _nice_, you're just playing police on dress-down day."

At Farrell's poorly muffled snort of laughter it was Emma's turn to look both confused and angry. Before she had a chance to speak Shawn resumed the frenetic pacing. Now he'd had spoken he couldn't stop words tumbling out of him, his thoughts and emotions entirely de-railed.

"Y'know, I thought this was actually gonna be a good day, for a change. Just once, it would be a good day and it was for a moment." Shawn whirled, stopped and held up the back of his hand, looking at it with wonder. "First thing this morning, I get the hottest girl at John Adams phone number. It was a great start. But what does it mean now?" He pushed his hair off his forehead with one hand, eyes wild. "It means nothing. It means jack. 'Cos everything in the world has been changed and nothing is anything and everything is nothing. This number is nothing." Shawn spat on the back of his hand and rubbed it against his leg, smudging the numbers into an intelligible black smear. "See. Everything gets destroyed. Its. All. Nothing."

With that he was no longer able to contain himself and swept his black-smudged hand across Feeney's desk, sending a paper weight and a photo frame crashing to the floor. Turner knew where this was going, the slow onslaught on the boy's emotions building to the point he would boil over in anger, frustration and fear. He only hoped Shawn would still listen to him.

"Shawn! Stop, now! You trashed my place, you are not trashing Mr Feeney's office. You stop now." At least the raised hand was lowered slowly even if Shawn was shaking with the effort of trying to regain control. "Breathe Shawn. I'm still here for you. But you need to calm down."

Shawn turned his back and went to the window, slapping his hands against the glass and leaving them there. He pressed his forehead against the glass and let out a low moan. To Turner it looked as though Shawn was waiting to be frisked. And maybe he was.

"Why?" he said in despair. "Why would you think I could do something like that?"

Farrell chewed his lip. It wouldn't make Stanton any happier but then again, she was already pissed at him. And if he just pushed this kids buttons a little more he might just get angry enough to flip and confess. "Your skateboard was found near the scene, hidden under a bush. There were injuries consistent with blunt force trauma. And when I say skateboard I mean half of your skateboard. And its obviously your board Hunter as you have some pretty distinctive graffiti on the bottom of it, every beat cop at the station knows that is your board from the number of times they've had to move you on from skating places you shouldn't. We've got the part that says 'Hun', where'd you hide the part that says 'ter'?"

Shawn's hands slid down the window, coming to a rest on the sill. His mind was a chaotic whirl but one thing was a flickering neon sign. Eddie had done it. Eddie had killed their father. He had an alibi, Shawn didn't. And he'd made damn sure the spotlight from the police would be firmly on Shawn, not him.

His hands moved slightly. Shawn looked wretchedly over his shoulder at Turner. "I don't have an alibi." With that he wrenched the window open and was through, turning his body lithe as a cat to grab the large, metal drainpipe that ran down the wall. He was far out of reach by the time they had crossed the room and they could only watch as he shinned down the length at some speed, seemingly unfeeling of the shredded skin on his hands.

Shawn let himself drop the last four feet to the ground, landing in a crouch and then taking off across the school yard. He was blind to the chattering stares of the students who were out there and just witnessed his recklessness. He was blind to everything but the need to flee and to hide.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: All the rights to BMW are not mine. Many thanks again to anyone who is reading this and your comments are always welcome. Thanks for the new reviews BagelsandBroadway, Nikkimbt02 &amp; AwesomeWriter2013. Chapter 10 now in progress!**

Chapter Nine

"Shawn!" Turner yelled from the open window, oblivious to the stares of the students now gathering. It was futile, the slender, black-clad figure was already gone. He spun and glared angrily at Emma and Farrell. "You pair of incompetent, ignorant morons! This your first day out of police academy? You have any, any idea what you've just put that kid through? And now he's off, terrified, and you've destroyed in minutes any bit of trust Shawn had in authority."

"Jonathan." George cautioned. He sat back at his desk, overwhelmed with the sadness of a young life being thrown away. "Although I agree. That was handled most appallingly."

Emma jabbed her finger at Farrell. "You're the one who came in here with a predisposed idea that Shawn Hunter had to be guilty. You just had to push, and that was not the protocol we discussed." She flopped into a vacant seat, exasperated and disappointed in herself.

Farrell pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and looked back at Emma with a sneer. "Oh yeah, little miss hotshot. You totally stuck to the script didn't you? What happened to we just tell him he needs to come to the station to answer some questions about his father? You're the one who had to tell him Chet's dead, you went off-script because you thought you could reach out." He held up a hand for silence as he held the phone to his ear.

"Danny? Yeah… no, total fubar…. Kid ran so I need you to put out an APB for him asap as a person of interest. He can't get far, he's only in the clothes he had." Another pause as Farrell listened, frowning. "Don't give me that, the door was covered. Nobody could predict that he would shimmy down a drainpipe from two storeys up." He listened for a moment more. "Okay. Tell him we're on our way." He looked at Emma. "Well, the Captain is mightily p.o'd now according to Dan so we've got to get back there, explain what happened and make a plan of action for bringing the kid in."

As the pair left Farrell stopped in the door and pointed at both Turner, then Feeney. "We'll be in contact with both of you. You'll both be questioned about Shawn Hunter in due course."

Turner fell apart on their departure. He'd never experienced anything like this in his life. "What the hell do I do George? I know Shawn could never do something like this, I mean he has an impetuous side but he wouldn't do this. How am I going to find Shawn, help Shawn? And that pig Farrell… he didn't care that he was tearing that boy's life apart, he had Shawn pegged as guilty as soon as he knew Shawn's history." He wiped his face, unaware that tears had silently crept out.

George picked up his wife's portrait and gently shook the broken glass from the frame. He thought hard, his face unreadable. Finally he stood the portrait back on his desk and straightened. "There is something you have to do that will ultimately help Shawn. And you have to go do it now." At Turner's silent question he continued. "You still have the papers from Chet to become Shawn's Legal Guardian?" There was a nod. "Go home, find the papers. If Chet signed them and all you need is to get them to your solicitor, do it now. Because when Shawn is found he is going to need you. And unless you are recognized as his _Legal _guardian, Shawn is going to get swallowed into a system we will never get him back from."

Turner could see the sense in this. Hell, he'd been about to complete the application anyway, before Chet had returned. As much as he wanted to out on the streets looking for Shawn, he knew George was right. "And you George? You'll speak to the Matthews?"

A sigh. "Yes. I suppose I will have to be the one break the news to them. Hopefully before they get a call from the police department."

– – – –

For a while after fleeing from school Shawn ran blindly without any direction in mind. His brain was a tangled knot of emotions, still reeling from the knowledge his Dad was dead, and the double whammy that he'd not only been murdered but Eddie was trying to frame him, Shawn, for it. He had no direction to run in as the places he would usually go were all now off limits.

They'll watch the trailer park, and Turner's apartment. They'll watch Cory's house. Where could he go? He forced himself to stop running along a back alley and squatted beside an industrial sized trash can, burying his head in his hands. There was no one he could turn to. No one who could help him. He had to get himself out of this… but how? He'd left his bag in Feeney's office and had nothing on him except a packet of gum, five dollars lunch money and the pen he'd had in his hand in class, and just shoved into his pocket. Not much to start out life as a fugitive he thought ruefully, before stifling a sob. That is what he was now. A fugitive, someone the law was looking for, a person of interest. His face, his description, it would be on T.V. Well, I've sure proved myself the screw-up of all screw-ups now.

_Oh Dad. Why? What happened with Eddie for you to wind up dead, all by yourself to be found like this? I was so ready to want to hate you for taking off and you were here all the time, but I didn't know. _

Shawn bit on his knuckles to choke back the bout of sobbing that threatening to engulf him. He didn't have the luxury of being able to mourn now. He had to find someplace to hole up in, at least long enough to figure out what to do next.

He cautiously stood up, checking no one was around taking an interest. His random escape had taken him into one of the seedier areas of town, which was probably a good thing. He'd stick out like a sore thumb in a decent neighborhood. Here at least he could blend in. Shawn looked around and noticed the hanging end of a fire escape ladder, jammed over six feet above the ground a short way down the alley. He quickly pushed the trash can under it, clambered on top and grabbed the lower rungs. With a small effort he scrambled up the rusty ladder, the protest from his torn palms ignored. It didn't take Shawn long to negotiate his way to the roof.

Although there was a small access door that led inside the building he figured no one came up here much. Peering over the edges he got his bearings and knew which building he was on. It was a flea-bag motel, the Rest Haven. He'd briefly stayed there when his Mom left with their trailer, his Dad hot on her heels. The only good thing about the place was no one asked questions and the drained swimming pool made a great skate bowl.

Shawn made a quick survey of his temporary refuge. The access door was locked so that was good, he wasn't likely to be disturbed without warning. There was a huge aluminum air conditioning unit, with enough of a sloping overhang to afford him a little protection. He scouted the rest of his world, looking for anything. At the end of his brief excursion he sat under the overhang, leaning against the warm metal and looked at his meager haul. An old raincoat, that stank of mildew but would have to do as a blanket for now. A paper clip. An empty plastic soda bottle.

This was all he now owned in the world. This was how it had to be. He was all alone, and the world was his enemy now. He had to be invisible. He had to be… nothing.

Shawn folded his arms over his knees and lowered his forehead. He was lost. He no longer had a father.

Finally he could let go and he wept into his arms uncontrollably until his eyes stung and his throat felt clogged with the raw heat of his sobbing. He didn't know what time it was, nor cared. Shawn curled up on the roof pulling the old coat over him, pillowed his head on his arms and fell into an exhausted sleep.

– – – –

Cory's face was a crease of anxiety as he and Topanga walked back to his house. School had been a strange affair. Shawn had not reappeared in any class, neither had Turner. And Mr Feeney had been strangely absent too. Rumors were rife about the school.

"I don't know what to think!" he exclaimed at Topanga's question. "We've looked in all the places Shawn would normally go, and nobody seems to know anything, and everyone knows something, but everyone has a different story which means everyone knows nothing." He paused. "I don't know." he concluded sadly. "I've heard so many different versions of what Shawn did or didn't do, I don't know what to believe."

Topanga put her arm around her boyfriend, also concerned but trying to think rationally. "The only thing I am sure is true, because of the amount of people who said they were outside… although I think the real number of people who did see was actually a third of those who say they did. But anyway. I think Shawn did climb out of Feeney's window and leave school via the drainpipe. That, people are agreed on."

"But why?" puzzled Cory. "What could Shawn have done to involve the police and him running away?" He pushed open the back door and stopped in surprise. "Mom, Dad… Mr Feeney."

"Oh my." Topanga said softly, looking at the three adults and their near-identical expressions of seriousness. "Oh boy,"

"Please, children, sit down."

Cory slid into a seat at the kitchen table and grabbed Topanga's hand for reassurance. As she squeezed back he knew she felt the same way. Whatever had happened could not be good. "Please." his voice came out shakier than he would have liked. "Please tell us what is happening. The truth."

Amy stood behind the pair, a hand on each shoulder to try and also reassure them. Alan stood beside Feeney his face grave. "This isn't going to be easy for either of you, but listen to Mr Feeney, then we will talk."

Seeing the look of consternation pass between the two teenagers Mr Feeney sat down opposite them. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I value both of you as two of my students I know to be caring, responsible young adults. And I know what I have to tell you is… terrible… but I wanted to tell you, and all your family, before you hear it from someone else." He hesitated again, knowing how ineffective any words were at what he had to say. "Shawn's father died." he simply said.

"Oh no! Poor Shawn!" Topanga could feel tears begin to rise and was grateful for the tissue Amy pressed into her hand.

Cory's face was blank with shock but, always more perceptive when it came to matters involving Shawn, he said slowly, "There is more isn't there Mister Feeney? I can see it in your faces. What else aren't you telling us?"

Feeney took a tissue and blew his own nose. He didn't show emotion often and that was as near to an emotional outburst as Cory had ever seen. "Mister Matthews, Miss Lawrence… this isn't easy for me to say. Its not something I've ever thought I'd have to break to any of my students. Chet Hunter… the police believe he was murdered. His body was discovered and there was some… there was some evidence for them to believe this. They wanted to take Shawn in to question him on where he was on the 25th."

"But that was weeks ago!" Cory protested. Then his eyes widened. "Oh God. Shawn's Dad was dead all these weeks and he had no idea."

"That's the problem." Feeney closed his eyes briefly. "The police, or at least the Detective leading this enquiry, think Shawn had..." He cleared his throat. "They think Shawn had some involvement in his father's death."

Topanga sobbed into Amy's arms. This couldn't be happening. This morning they were at school, they had been chatting at the lockers and been… normal. How could everything change so fast?

Cory's eyes glistened but he looked Feeney in the eye. "Shawn didn't do it." he asserted firmly, with absolute conviction. "Shawn loved his Dad."

"I know my boy." Feeney sighed. "But Shawn admitted he didn't have an alibi and then took off." Down a drain pipe two storeys high. How desperate a creature had they turned Shawn into that the possibility of serious injury or even death was insignificant beside the urge to get away from them all? "If you need time off school I understand, although trying to keep to some routine might be more beneficial..." He trailed off. "I just hope someone who cares about Shawn finds him before the police. Or that he turns to one of us so we can help him."

Cory looked out of the window, trying to hide the tears that fell. Shawnie was somewhere out there, afraid, hurting and all alone.

– – – –

_This is Channel 6 Action News and I'm your host Trent Holzer. We will be bringing you the latest on the inquiry into missing John Adams student Shawn Hunter who has now not been seen for over 48 hours. The police have listed him as a person of interest in their investigation into the death of Chet Hunter, Shawn's father. Earlier today his brother, Edward Hunter, made this appeal._

"_Shawn, I don't know if you'll see this, but if you do, please, please come home little brother. I know you are scared and think you're in trouble, but you need to let us know you're safe at least. I am ashamed to admit on camera that I made mistakes in my past, I went to prison for them, and I know how frightening that is. But it made me realize what is important, and that is family. Shawn, turn yourself in before you do something that gets you into more trouble. The police just want to talk to you. Please Shawn, remember there are people who care about you."_

"You lying piece of crap." Turner flicked channels and then switched the T.V off. The apartment was too quiet. How dare Eddie stand there playing the concerned, reformed, older brother? And in the appeal insinuate that Shawn could "get himself into more trouble". It made it sound like Shawn was about to hold up a grocery store!

Turner ran his hands tiredly over his face, feeling the two days growth of stubble. He'd managed to get the paperwork authorized so he was Shawn's official legal guardian, which would be great, if only he knew where Shawn was. For the past two days he'd not been back to school, he would get up at 6 a.m and drive around the streets just hoping he'd find Shawn. He would stop at places where a kid who felt himself lost and on the wrong side of the law might be less noticeable and would show Shawn's photo. If he got any reaction, which wasn't often, it was 'Oh the kid off T.V right? The kid who killed his Dad?'.

He'd seen the crummy underside of the town, but he'd not seen Shawn. Turner hoped wherever the boy was, he hadn't fallen into the hands of some of the people who he'd seen down town who preyed on kids like Shawn.

– – –

Twilight was stealing into the day and on a windy rooftop a disheveled figure slowly sat up, emerging from underneath a tattered sheet of plastic wearily. A grubby gray raincoat hung almost down to its ankles, a tuft of plastic carrier bag sticking up from the top of each boot. The face was hidden under a greasy brown trapper hat, the ear flaps long enough to almost reach the hunched shoulders, and a black cotton ragged scarf.

Dirty hands pulled the scarf down and Shawn Hunter looked out at his new world with exhaustion glazing his eyes. He'd spent his first night as a fugitive working out how to become invisible to people and realized quickly there was no one more invisible than the truly homeless. People would see them, but would look away, pretend they didn't exist. As long as the homeless kept to the peripheries of normal life no one really saw them.

He'd given his last 5 bucks to a homeless guy who had been begging outside the liquor store in return for the hat. Shawn had pulled it on over his beanie for extra warmth, knowing it would shield his face adequately so he wouldn't be recognized. He absently pushed a hand under the beanie and scratched at his scalp. Lice had come for free.

The ragged scarf had been caught on the edge of the clothes recycling bin at the edge of the park. He had tried to reach into the bin to see if there was anything else he could snag, but apparently it had been designed specifically to keep the clothes out of the hands of people like him. Clothing for Humanity, yet someone who needed clothing couldn't get in the bin.

At least his feet weren't cold. Shawn had found clean enough carrier bags to line his boots with. He just hoped it wouldn't rain any time soon. The plastic sheet he'd taken from a dumpster was scant protection.

But it was a good disguise. Shawn kept telling himself this was such a temporary situation, he was wearing a disguise to protect himself, to move around at night, it wasn't a lifestyle. He was just… just like an undercover cop, playing a role. He would figure out something better soon.

First things first though. He had barely eaten anything other than his gum and water he'd filled his bottle up with from the mens' room at the all night garage. And he had to be careful when he went there. Time it wrong and he'd find himself a person of interest to the three hookers who plied their trade outside. They didn't take kindly to homeless people on their patch.

Shawn climbed down the fire escape and dropped onto the trash can before jumping down into the alley, checking no one was there. All clear. Time to join the rest of the night people and find something to eat.

Head down, hands in pockets, he shuffled along the sidewalk, expecting each time he passed someone they would turn and shout, "Hey, you're the kid off the T.V they want!" But to his relief not one person seemed to see him. They seemed more than oblivious to him and Shawn felt almost ghostlike. Shawn Hunter didn't exist to anyone. He was beyond nothing in his disguise.

So… food. Buying food was out of the question as he had nothing to buy food with. He wasn't going to try stealing food, the last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself, or be on CCTV. There was a soup kitchen at the community hall, maybe if he kept quiet and his head down he could grab something there.

– – –

Shawn didn't go directly up to the community hall doors, but stood in the shadow of a shop doorway across the street, watching. The line of men, some women, slowly snaked into the open double doors. There was little chatter. They all looked as fatigued with their lives as Shawn felt. If he just joined the queue, kept quiet, he'd get a hot meal. His stomach growled impatiently.

Okay then. Shawn pulled the scarf up over his face further so it was mostly just his eyes visible to anyone who looked too closely at him and began to slowly cross over the street. He stopped as a small group of young women and men left the community hall, casually dressed and all with identical smiles. They began to move up and down the line, speaking to anyone who looked to be younger than most of the homeless people. Shawn could hear them, and his heart raced.

"Hello, you look like you need some friends and love in your life. Once you have partaken of the food we are providing here this evening why don't you join us at The Centre. Please, take a leaflet. You'll find you have people who care for you there, where you can stay with us and be safe."

They all had something slightly different to say, but it all amounted to the same thing. Join us. Join The Centre. Shawn began to back away, suddenly scared. He'd heard stories of the The Centre and how its leader Mr Mack took in kids, converted them to his cult and way of thinking until they were alienated from friends and family. Until they were identikit versions of the people handing out leaflets, whose smiles never reached their eyes. He had almost walked in, he could have been snared iinto a cult n the same way Mr Mack snared all his group. By giving people who had nothing to believe in a false sense of hope and security. It was all lies. Nothing was better than believing those lies. Shawn turned his back to their false promises and ran. He'd find food elsewhere.

– – –

The couple came out of the cinema, the man immediately wrapping his arm around the woman, for her warmth, protection. He was in his forties, tall with dark hair just starting to gray at the temples, dressed in an expensive looking gabardine suit, charcoal colored. She was petite but of a similar age, her heart-shaped face framed with a fiery red bob. She pulled her wool coat tighter about herself and snuggled into her partner's side.

"I didn't realize the film would end so late!" she exclaimed. "Its almost quarter to eleven, will we still have time to find somewhere for a drink?"

The man laughed. "We'd always find somewhere open for a drink, what you mean is will we find some place nice open, that serves a decent chardonnay." He looked up and down the street. "I know Charlie recommended a small family bar not far from here. Fancy a ten minute walk?" He grinned. "I'll protect from any bad guys out here."

"Gabe." the woman giggled. "I'm sure this area isn't that bad. Its not like we're in trailer park country."

They walked up the street a way, chatting about the film. "Of course the book had more depth, its a 500 page novel. But I thought the film was good, it was more accessible than the book." Gabe smiled. "At least to people like me who aren't total book worms."

"Yes, but… Oh my… oh, lord. Would you look at that."

"What is it Holly?" He looked to where Holly was pointing up the street. For a moment he couldn't see what had stopped her in her tracks, then he noticed the small figure. It appeared to be all dirty coat and hat, rummaging in a trash can, back to them. Whoever the hat and coat had originally belonged to, they dwarfed the tramp in front of him. It was impossible to tell what was underneath, but he assumed from the slight build it was probably a woman. "Oh. Its just a homeless person. They won't attack us. If she… or he… starts trying to beg money from us I think I'm big enough to scare them off."

"No Gabe!" Holly exclaimed softly, her eyes glistening with tears. "Its not that. Its just sad, horribly sad. That some person's life has descended to a level where they eat from bins. I'm not used to seeing it." She stifled a sound of disgust as the figure straightened up, opened a discarded pizza box and retrieved a curled up slice of pizza. Unseeing of the couple the figure made a quiet noise of triumph and examined the trophy briefly. Pulling down its scarf a bite was taken, then another.

Holly grimaced. "Oh god, I don't suppose they're any older than Patty." Their daughter however was safe, warm and cared for at home, preparing to go to college. She wasn't roaming the streets and eating garbage.

"Hey… miss? Kid?" Gabe held up his hands to try and show he wasn't going to cause trouble. "You need some money for food?" He surprised himself by the question. He never gave money to people begging in the streets and here he was, offering one cash.

Shawn turned and froze, finally realizing he was being watched. He quickly swallowed the pizza and defiantly pushed the rest in his mouth, chewing quickly as he tried to gauge the couple's reactions. They at least didn't obviously recognize him as someone who's face presumably had been over the T.V and newspapers the past few days. The woman, she looked distraught and the man, he was just looking concerned. He pulled the scarf back up anyway as a precaution and looked with mistrust at the now outstretched hand. Ten dollars. It would get him food. But no… that would mean being able to go into a store. Too risky.

He dropped the empty pizza box back into the bin, pushing his hands deep into his pockets. His voice was gravelly from not speaking to anyone, from lack of water and from the hours he'd spent crying each morning before exhaustion took him away to sleep. "Need food. Can't buy it. Need some water too." He took his empty plastic bottle from his pocket by way of evidence.

Gabe sighed. This wasn't how he'd planned their weekly date night. They were supposed to drive into the city, book into a reasonable hotel for the night, watch a movie, have some drinks, go back to the hotel… Oh well. He knew Holly would never forgive him if they walked away without trying to offer some small help. And he could see it was a young man now, not a woman, maybe barely out of his teens. It was hard to tell under all the layers of clothing and grime.

"Um. Well look, I can see there is still a late night store open across the street. If I ran over there real quick, before they close, and grab you something to eat, a bottle of juice, would you take it, please? But I'm not getting you alcohol If that is what you really want."

Shawn gave a short, harsh laugh. "Oh yeah. 'Cos you'd assume I would. No. I don't need that."

"Okay then." He turned to Holly. "Do you want to come with..." Gabe trailed off as she shook her head.

Holly didn't want to stay by herself, but she didn't think the youth was any threat to her. If anything she was bigger than he was! And she didn't want to risk him running off before they had at least tried to help him, in however small way. "Just don't be long."

As Gabe took off at a fast trot she looked back at the youth, unable to see anything other than a glimmer from the shadowed eyes. "You're not on drugs are you?" She felt relieved at the short laugh and negative head shake. Although would someone tell the truth if they were? "What could be so bad that you live out here?"

Oh not much, Shawn thought. Just a sadistic half brother who framed me for the murder of my father. "Unfortunate events beyond my control."

"Oh." Holly shifted, aware that this was a bizarre situation to be in. She had never spoken to a homeless person before. "Do you… Do you have somewhere safe to go later?"

Shawn frowned, perplexed. Why were these two strangers trying to be nice to him? Was there some angle he was missing? "I've a place. No one can bother me there. Safe enough." He scratched at an annoying lice bite under his hats. "Why?"

Holly fumbled in her coat pocket for a tissue, and blew her nose. "You were… You reminded me of my daughter. I don't mean she's homeless. She's at home right now, hopefully putting in some more time on her college applications. But I saw you and, I don't know." She hesitated. "I wouldn't want my daughter to be in a position where she couldn't come home."

Shawn looked away, wrapping his arms around himself. She wouldn't be staring at him with such pity if he turned and said he was wanted by the police for the murder of his father. "She's lucky then." he said shortly. "Sometimes… shit happens. I hope it never does for her."

Gabe came running back over, a bag hanging from one arm. He couldn't help the look of relief that appeared when he saw Holly was still perfectly safe. He held the bag out to Shawn. "Here. Please, take it. I didn't know what you'd like. Or if you have any way to um… cook stuff. So I got a sandwich, crisps, candy bars, oranges, soda..." He trailed off. "Its not much. I just hopes it helps you get through a day without having to eat from trash cans."

A small dirty hand grabbed the bag with urgency and Shawn clutched it to his chest. "Thank you." He paused. "I mean it. You didn't have to do anything and you did. So… thank you. Have a great night and hug your daughter when you get home."

He began to run, not wanting to risk any more conversation when he could feel himself becoming vulnerable again. He had to be a soldier, he had to be strong. He heard the man call out but kept running. It was better that way, before they started asking more questions, before their kindness broke his resolve. Or before he let something slip that would turn their concern to horror when they realized who he was. Or what he really was.

– – –

****Authors note. Sorry but its important to me: ******1.7 million (approx.) homeless teens in the United States  
39% of the homeless population are youth under 18 years of age. 5,000 youth die every year due to assault, illness, or suicide while living on the streets. 14.7 years of age is the average age youth become homeless. ****(****These statistics were provided by the National Coalition for the Homeless/U.S. Department of Health and Human Services****). And yet the homeless remain invisible.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: see all previous disclaimers. Welcome to Chapter 10! Thanks as always for taking the time to read, and many thanks for the reviews old, and reviews new (BagelsandBroadway, Angela, Liana &amp; 2 Guests), I always appreciate the feedback. And thanks to Mattiewilda for her damn good story that finally gave me the nudge to start posting my own. Chapter 11 next week I promise!**

Chapter Ten

Feeney climbed the stairs to Jon's apartment. Now he knew why he'd never visited the man at home before, so many steps! Feeney paused and used a crisp handkerchief to dab at his forehead. He'd had to come here though, his last conversation with Turner over the telephone had left him worried. Well, with one more worry.

He was dreadfully worried about Shawn, and the fact that it was now Friday and no one had seen anything of him since he had ran from school on Monday. He was worried for Cory, who was taking the disappearance of his best friend very badly. And Turner was becoming more of a concern now too.

Feeney shook his head. Each day his colleague had grown more desperate, more anguished. He pushed himself from early morning until late at night, constantly searching, questioning, hoping for any sign that Shawn was okay. And each day that passed with no word, no sighting, Turner tortured himself with worst case scenarios on what might have happened to Shawn. On the telephone the man sounded exhausted, full of self-recrimination about what he did wrong by Shawn in the past, how he should have paid more attention, asked more questions… never let Shawn go back to Chet.

It was so easy to play the 'what if' game. Easier still to find ways to blame your own actions in the past, trying to figure out if you had only done one thing differently, whether the situation now would be so dire. Feeney had done it himself but it accomplished nothing in the end, and changed nothing.

So now Feeney needed to see Turner for himself, to make sure that the man wasn't as close to cracking up as he'd sounded on the telephone.

He knocked, and smiled grimly at the angry shout.

"I swear, its this is the police again..." Turner paused in surprise. "Sorry George. I wasn't expecting you. Come in. But excuse the mess, house keeping has been the last thing on my mind."

Feeney took a quick glance at the state of the lounge as he entered. Empty takeaway boxes stacked on the kitchen counter, a pile of dirty laundry on the couch. He waited until Turner had hurriedly moved the laundry to a corner and sat down, regarding his colleague with concern. Unshaven, hair unruly, eyes shadowed by the lack of sleep. "I came over because I was worried for you Jon. You cannot keep pushing yourself each day and punishing yourself for not being able to find Shawn."

Turner sat next to Feeney, sighing helplessly. "What else do I do? I only came back to get something for lunch, then I was going to go out again. I don't know where to try looking though. I even went back down to The Centre this morning. Mack was not pleased to see me, threatened to call the police if I bothered him or 'his children' again. So what do I do?"

"You need to keep it together so when Shawn is found, you can be strong for him. How will you be of help to Shawn when he is found if you've run yourself into the ground?"

"Do you believe that George?" Turner looked beseechingly at Feeney. "Do you believe he will be found? I keep imagining all the situations Shawn could be in, some of the things you see, it tears my heart out. I saw kids out there, barely older than Shawn. Picked up, groomed and put to work on the streets, selling themselves for the promise of drugs or money… I don't know… I keep seeing…" Turner put his head in his hands, shaking his head. "I just can't get some of the images out of my mind."

"That is why you're coming with me. We're going to have lunch over at the Matthew's house. I've got cover for my absence from school. Amy couldn't send Cory in today, I think he's been having similar nightmares to your own."

"And do what?"

Feeney folded his arms, his face grave. "A council of war, so to speak. Because the police haven't been able to locate Shawn. Although they've trampled through my flower beds, been through my house and the Matthew's twice with a sniffer dog in case one of us was hiding Shawn."

"Yeah." Turner rubbed his eyes. "I thought it was them again when you knocked."

"Well I spoke to one of them earlier this morning. And there has been one piece of news I doubt you've heard."

Turner looked up hopefully. "About Shawn?"

"No." Feeney shrugged in apology at Turner's crestfallen look. "About Eddie Hunter. Seems he's also gone missing recently. The police are much more interested in his whereabouts now as it seems Eddie has disappeared, and his girlfriend has admitted his alibi about being at a party at her house was actually all a lie. Seems she was more interested initially at keeping Eddie happy so he'd keep supplying her with drugs. Now he's gone she was apparently somewhat aggrieved that her supplier had run out on her."

"Oh Christ." Turner straightened, eyes shocked. "You don't think… what if Eddie found Shawn before us, and beat him, or worse?"

"I can only pray Jon, that Eddie is as far away from Shawn as possible." Feeney stood, suddenly determined. "Come on man. I'm driving. I don't need you having an accident. Over lunch with the Matthews we will try and come up with some ideas, or a coordinated search plan at least."

– – –

"George, Jonathan. I'm glad you could both come over." Amy ushered the two men into her kitchen. She smiled, but it was obvious she was as worn out as everyone else in the room. Alan sat at the kitchen table, his face one of angry frustration.

"Hey." he said shortly. "I sent Cory out, to take Morgan to the park and feed the ducks. I thought he needed to do something normal and Morgan's still terrified that she going to find a strange man with a big dog in her room again. And Cory was up with a nightmare last night because it was raining. He was convinced Shawn was hiding in his old tree house to stay out of the rain and made me go look at 3 o'clock this morning." Alan shook his head. "Sorry. I guess we're all tired and frazzled by this."

"Yeah." Turner sat down. "If I see that Detective Farrell again, hear him insinuating about Shawn, I may not be able to stop myself from punching him."

"Get in the queue pal." Alan spoke with quiet fury. "He stood here, in my kitchen, knowing my kids were in the room next door, and basically accused Cory of deliberately hiding Shawn in our house. And what the consequences would be if that were found to be true."

"Let us hope that now Eddie has shown his cards in fleeing, they will focus their activities more of finding that Hunter, rather than the one we care about." Feeney stated calmly. "We cannot go over recriminations or blame here. We need to discuss a plan on how to go about finding Shawn ourselves."

Turner accepted the cup of coffee from Amy with a brief smile of thanks. "But where George? How? Between us we've been to everywhere we know Shawn would go. I even went to The Centre and visited as many hostels as I could. We've been to hospitals, we've been everywhere."

"Not everywhere. We've eliminated the obvious places. Now we need to start thinking of the least obvious. We need to put ourselves in the mindset of a boy who thinks the world is after him, and where he would hide from sight."

– – –

Yesterday had not been a good day. Well, not that Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday had been good days. In fact Shawn thought, every day this week had been a variation of super bad. He had never spent so long in such a state of permanent anxiety and fear, running off adrenalin.

The momentary feeling of achieving a small victory on Wednesday by the gifted bag of snacks had lasted about as long as it had taken Shawn to eat the sandwich, two chocolate bars and a can of soda. The rest of his haul – three oranges, three packets of crisps, a cereal bar and two cans of soda – he had taken back to his roof top. He knew he couldn't guarantee when he'd next have such bounty and had to ration himself.

Thanks to whoever his good Samaritan couple were, he at least didn't starve throughout Thursday. Shawn had slept fitfully through the morning, woken by cold, by the itching of lice and by the nightmares he repeatedly had about Chet. In each one his father was a ghostly figure, half a skateboard protruding from his head, following Shawn. _Why? _His ghost Dad kept asking. _Why __couldn't you be a good boy? _Shawn would wake up either sobbing or yelling, dependent on whether the ghost Dad got close enough for Shawn to see the rot in his flesh, to see the cavernous holes where once were eyes. For his Dad to open his mouth and nothing but maggots falling out as he slurred, _Why weren't you good Shawn?_

And if he wasn't having nightmares, Shawn was reliving moments of life under Eddie. In his dreams he was back in the trailer, Eddie easily pinning him down with his greater size and strength. It didn't matter if the pain was being inflicted by the deep agony of a belt, the searing heat of a lighter, cigarette or cigar, or the cold touch of Eddie's razor sharp knife scoring his flesh, it all amounted to the same feeling of helplessness, dread and self-loathing.

There had been no point in the end trying to sleep and Shawn had awoken to an overcast afternoon, with a biting wind. The down side of being on a roof top, he thought miserably, there is no escaping the wind. He huddled under the over hang on the air conditioning unit and pulled the plastic sheet around his shoulders. It was hardly any warmer.

He'd toyed with the idea of leaving the roof to try and find somewhere at ground level that was more sheltered, at least temporarily, but the sound of a drunken fight outside the front of the motel was followed by the sound of a police siren, and Shawn was too afraid after that to go anywhere in daylight. So he'd spent the afternoon in a zoned out depression, occasionally snacking on one of his precious rations when hunger got the better of him.

The overcast afternoon had turned into a wet and rainy night. That was when Shawn had discovered a plastic sheet over your head and the overhang were scant protection from the showers that still managed to blow in on him. In was the Hunter luck, he thought miserably, the wind would be blowing in totally the wrong direction.

He supposed it was finally complete exhaustion that had allowed him some precious hours of sleep, awaking damp and stinking into the bright sunlight of Friday. He stood up, dropping the plastic sheet, and stretched, his joints popping from cold and stiffness.

One orange and a can of soda. Okay. Eat the orange now and keep the soda for later. Ration. Shawn quickly finished his meager breakfast/lunch and rubbed his forefinger against his teeth. He'd not been able to wash or brush his teeth for five days and felt scuzzy. Scuzzy and a head of lice. He smiled sardonically. Somewhere in an alternate universe a different Shawn Hunter would be napping happily through classes, then going to a party to make out with Honeypot. In this reality though, Honeypot would cross the street to avoid him and never spare him a glance.

His stomach growled. Okay, okay, Shawn told it. A plan. If no one sees homeless people maybe it would be safe enough to leave the roof this afternoon and do a quick recce around the parks. People always had picnics or concession food in the park, and there might be something thrown out that was still good enough to eat.

Shawn weighted the plastic sheet down with his soda can and began his descent via the fire escape. From trailer trash to trash munching, he thought without humor. You're not moving up in the world Hunter.

He paused climbing down with a deep sigh and sense of gloomy fatalism. He wasn't moving down to the world either. For some reason, that Shawn could only surmise was that if there was a god, the dude had it in for him, someone had pushed the large trash bin from under the fire escape and back to its original position by the service door of the motel. Now instead of a drop onto the top of the trash bin, and a jump to the ground, he had one hell of a long drop from the bottom of the ladder to the alley way.

Shawn held on grimly and bounced hard on the rungs beneath him. The fire escape ladder shed rust and shuddered but seemed more likely to come away from the wall than free itself up. "Damn you then,." he muttered.

Steeling himself Shawn lowered his bottom half so he was dangling above the ground, arms curled around the rungs with all the strength he had. It wasn't enough. Whether it was hunger, fatigue, the stress of the past days, or a combination of all these things, he couldn't hold onto the rungs long enough to prepare himself for the drop. Even with Shawn's innate ability to traverse vertical spaces it wasn't a good landing.

He cried out in agony as his left ankle turned under him, sending him sprawling in pain against the wall. Shawn stretched out his left leg, swearing quietly and vehemently to himself. He braced himself against the wall and gingerly tried to put some weight on it. "Freaking hell!" Great, add a badly sprained ankle to everything Hunter, why not try screwing up some more?

Eventually, and not without a lot more swearing, Shawn got himself upright with his weight on his right leg and using the wall as a prop. It was agony to put his left foot down but he forced himself to take jolting, limping steps towards the rectangle of the trash bin, waves of pain making him bite his lip with each faltering step.

It was only a few meters, but it felt a hell of a lot further. Shawn rested his head on the cold metal lid for a moment, panting. He didn't think he'd have the strength to move the bin back now. He looked upwards at the near cloudless blue sky. "Look, just give me a freaking break, _please_."

Maybe for once the universe listened to him. It wasn't a huge break, but on the other side of the trash bin someone had dumped an old shopping cart. Its wire sides were somewhat bent out of shape and one of the wheels on the front was twisted out of line, but then again, didn't that just reflect his current state of being? And when he finally managed to right the shopping cart, it was at least sturdy enough to support his weight.

Trying to ignore the protests from his left foot Shawn leaned on the shopping cart and began to make his way, lurching and limping, down the alleyway. What other choice did he have?

– – –

Blue skies, moms pushing prams through the park chatting, nursery kids clambering on the monkey bars and jostling each other for a turn on the slide or swing set. It should have been a nice afternoon, but Cory couldn't get into the happy vibe, not when his best friend had been missing for five days and he couldn't do anything about it. He was the one who should have found Shawn by now, he'd always managed to know exactly where his friend would be in the past. Why not this time?

Cory felt a tug on his hand from Morgan. "What?"

"Don't be a booger head." The small blonde head tossed indignantly. "I only said I was glad we both were allowed to stay home from school today. I didn't like having nightmares, but I like coming to the park with you. But you were ignoring me. Booger head."

"Sorry Morgan." Cory gave his younger sister a brief hug. "I'm glad I could stay home and take you to the park too. What was your nightmare about?"

Morgan pulled a face, kicking a pebble along the path. "I thought Shawn was really hiding under my bed, and there was a dog in my room trying to bite me. Then a policeman came in and said I'd been really naughty and then I woke up." She picked up the pebble and threw it into the pond. "Everyone is being a booger at home." she said plaintively. "No one wants to play with me, and no one talks to me. But I'm not a little kid. I saw Shawn on the T.V and some kids in my class said the police were going to put him in prison. I don't want Shawn to be in prison. I hope he comes home soon, he's funny sometimes. Like the time he laughed so hard milk came out of his nose. It was super gross."

Cory grinned at the memory. "You were a little kid when he did that. And I don't want anything bad to happen to Shawn either, its just… we seem to have lost him so the police want to help find him. They didn't mean to scare you."

For the moment Morgan was satisfied with the answer. "Can I go play with the little kids on the monkey bars. They're too small to know how to do it really properly."

Cory nodded. "Okay, but no wandering off or talking to strangers. I'll sit on the bench over here where I can still see you whilst I feed the ducks."

"Lame-oh." Morgan giggled and rushed off to play, her troubles forgotten.

"Language young lady!" Cory called after her in his best Feeney impression. His grin faded as he sat down on the bench. If only everything could be as simply sorted as it was in Morgan's world. Chet dead, Shawn disappearing, Eddie leaving town too. The disintegration of the Hunters had left him without his best friend for the first time since they were younger than Morgan. It hurt, it really hurt.

He opened the paper bag of stale bread and began throwing small chunks into the pond in a desultory fashion, not really caring that most of the ducks that came over were already overfed and not all that interested in eating. They dibbled the bread and squabbled between themselves, but there was no feeding frenzy.

Why couldn't he fix this? Cory thought. He was the king of fixers. Or at least he was, when he had Shawn as his partner in crime. But every time Shawn had faced problems before he had known what to try and do to fix things. The same thought he'd had all week bubbled up. If he had never gone to the truck stop with Topanga, they wouldn't have found Chet. If they hadn't found Chet Shawn would still be living with Turner. And everything would be as it should.

Except they had found Chet, and nothing was going to be the same again. One dead, two missing. Cory glanced over at the play park to check Morgan was still showing off to her new friends and not getting into trouble. He could hear her laughing and bossing the smaller kids around, so at least she was happy. He threw another piece of bread, trying to see how far he could throw it. If Topanga was here it would be better, but she'd called to say she'd not be in school either as she had stomach ache. Cory knew that was probably code for some gross girl problem but any company would be good right now.

Well… maybe not _any _company. Cory paused in his bread throwing as a homeless person lurched past him on the path, pushing a cart containing a flattened cardboard box, and looked away, pretending to take a great interest in the contents of the paper bag on his lap. He wrinkled his nose in disgust as a wrong breeze sent a stale waft his way. _Oh please, just keep moving and stop stinking up my spot!_

Cory flicked his glance up briefly before dropping his gaze again to his lap. Oh Christ, now they were looking in the waste bin. He was debating moving to a bench further away when he heard a whispered voice so soft he wasn't entirely sure if he'd heard it at all, or where it came from.

"Cory…_ don't freak out on me and don't move. But most of all, don't freak out._"

He looked around, perplexed. The homeless person was still interested in the bin's contents and taking no notice of him. "Shawn?" Cory shook his head. "Where are you?"

The homeless person turned its head, looking back over one shoulder. Bloodshot blue eyes glinted. "Here you idiot."

"Holy… Shawn?" Cory made to rise and then subsided at the hissed '_I said don't freak out and don't move'. _"What… How? Oh Shawnie, I've missed you so bad but jesus… What happened to you?" He couldn't believe it, that the one person they had all been looking for, for five days, was standing mere feet in front of him. He couldn't believe that this was Shawn, so un-Shawn was it in appearance.

"Its just a disguise." Shawn said defensively, knowing deep down that was getting less true with each passing day. "Proves it works, if you didn't see me, neither will the cops. But I still gotta be discreet. Would look weird if someone saw you start getting chatty with me wouldn't it? And I gotta keep moving on the edges of your world, some of the Moms down here don't take kindly to me being within sight of their little darlings."

Cory could take his point. He made a pretense of looking over to where Morgan was playing, oblivious to their drama. "Its a thorough disguise. You've got the smell down pat. Shawnie, you look awful if I'm honest. This isn't a solution. I don't think you're exactly America's Most Wanted. Well, maybe to that Detective Farrell but mostly you're being looked for because you're a run-away teen. A vulnerable run-away teen." He risked a quick glance and threw a chunk of bread angrily at the ducks. It was hard to see much of Shawn under the filthy clothing but the blue eyes that met his were sunken and exhausted. Cory glanced down and away again. "You living in a box now?"

"No." Shawn retorted, a defensive anger lacing his words. "I thought I'd put an extension in, improve the place."

"What's with the ankle then? That also part of this cunning disguise?" Cory said with a bite of sarcasm, his worry outweighing tact.

"No. Stupid accident, just fell on it this morning. I'm fine." Shawn pulled the scarf down off his face and turned to give Cory an angry glare. "Hell Cor, will you knock off wasting bread of those fat birds please. They don't need it. I damn do."

Cory looked perplexed then groaned. "Oh Shawnie." He shook his head, not understanding fully. "Its _stale_."

The worn, dirty face gave a bleak grin. "I'm rooting in a bin looking for something, anything to eat Cor. Don't you get it? I'm freaking starving. All I've ate today is an orange. Stale or not, its gotta be better than what I'll find dumpster diving. Just throw the bread this way." Shawn caught the bag awkwardly with one hand, the other still needed to hold onto the cart to support his sprained ankle. He managed to extricate a slice and ate it quickly. "Oh stop looking at me like that. Its not like I've been able to call upon room service. Its not like I've not scrounged food off you before now."

Oh Shawn, Cory thought mournfully, there are places you should never have to go, lengths you should never have to go to. This has got to stop. And I've got to make it right. But Shawn can't come home with me like this, we'd stick out way too much. And with Shawn convinced the police will jump on him and drag him in for questioning as soon as he shows his face anywhere, there would be no way of persuading him to simply walk home. There has to be a way of getting Shawn off the streets and somewhere safer, without drawing notice. Cory bit his lip, the glimmer of an idea forming.

"I'm gonna have to go." Shawn said urgently. "Morgan is looking this way and I don't want her to see me like this."

"Wait." Cory said with urgency. "I have an idea… I think. Promise me you'll come back here later this evening. Before it gets real dark, but kinda early evening. Here. Take my watch. Be here for half six."

Shawn caught the watch and stuffed it into a coat pocket. It wouldn't do for him to get mugged now for wearing a watch no homeless person would ever own. His eyes were mistrustful. "Why?"

"Please Shawn!" Cory begged. "You need help. And I want my best friend back. I think I can work something that would do that, without getting you noticed. Just promise me."

Shawn looked down for a moment, fighting his emotions. Cory was always there for him. He didn't know how Cory had found him this time, but he had, as ever. "Okay," he said softly. "I promise. Even if it is just to return your watch."

There wasn't much time, Morgan was walking back over to him, her face in a pinched frown. "Shawn… I'm so sorry about your Dad too."

The scarf was pulled back into place. Shawn couldn't deal with talking about his Dad just yet. That was still his private grief, because if it wasn't for him being the ultimate screw up, his Dad would probably be alive. He shuddered and abruptly turned away. "Half six." he stated, and began pushing the cart away from Cory in a pained, unsteady limp.

Morgan ran over to her brother and looked up at him, still frowning. "Why were you talking to the stinky man? You told me not to talk to strangers." She took Cory's hand. "Why are you looking sad? Did the stinky man make you sad?"

"No… I'm not exactly sad. I guess I'm happy-sad." Cory smiled to show Morgan he was really okay and began walking with her out of the park. "Come on, we've got to get home, now. I really need to talk to Mom and Dad, and Mr Turner. And probably Feeney."

"All of them?" Morgan did a skip. "Oooh, did the stinky man know anything about Shawn?"

"Better." Cory lifted Morgan onto his shoulders so he could trot faster, the urge to get home now a matter of top priority. "The stinky man knows where Shawn really is. And hopefully will talk sense into him."

"Then let's go horsey!" Morgan laughed. "Booger head to the rescue!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: Blah blah Disney owns it all. So welcome to Chapter 11, and yes, it does get a bit dark so consider yourselves warned. Thanks as always for reading this far and thanks for all reviews and comments, and to the new reviews from Guests, Pippy and The Marauder's** **Secret &amp; Trisha. And many apologies as I read back over previous chapters &amp; noticed typos, so my proofreading sucks and its bugging me there are errors. But to go back and correct them would mean not started Chapter 12 so as much as its making me grrrrr they will have to stay for now. Grrr.**

Chapter Eleven

As he approached the back of his house Cory was relieved to see his Dad and Mom through the window, still seated at the table with Feeney and Turner. He could feel a grin form as he opened the kitchen door, "Mom! Dad!"

"Duck Cory!"

In time he remembered Morgan on his shoulders and swung her to the floor. "Mom, Dad," Cory begun again, "You -"

"Wait one moment." Alan interrupted with exasperation. "I thought I told you to take your sister to the park and spend the afternoon with her so you could both get some respite, and we could have some space to discuss things that only adults need to be privy to? And yet you're back here already. "

"No, Dad, please -"

Cory was cut off again by his father. "I wanted you to do something normal, to get Morgan out and have some fun. Was that too much to ask?"

It was too much for Morgan, who had been holding Cory's hand and literally bouncing with the desire to tell. "Don't be mad at Cory 'cos he spoke to a stranger! Even if he knows that was wrong, its okay, the stinky man wasn't a bad stinky man." She ran over to Alan, her face earnest. "The stinky man had good news!"

"Whoa. What?" Alan looked from Morgan to Cory. "Someone mind telling me what is going on here? Who is the stinky man?"

Amy put a calming hand on her husband's shoulder, knowing in his frustration he was liable to come over as angrier than he meant to. "Morgan honey, I think Cory needs to tell everyone about this stinky man. How about you and I go upstairs and practice doing hair and makeup?"

"Can I put make up on you Mommy?" At Amy's resigned nod Morgan began to drag her upstairs.

"You'd better fill me in on this soon." she whispered over her shoulder to Alan on the way up.

There was a moments silence until Turner pulled out a chair for Cory to sit on. "So, Matthews, what was Morgan babbling about?"

"First don't all ask a million questions at once. And don't be mad." Cory folded his arms on the table and looked from his father, to Feeney and then Turner. He grinned faintly and not without some nervousness. "I saw Shawn. I spoke to him. I thought it might be important enough to come back here to tell you immediately."

"_Is he safe?" "Where is he?" "Why didn't you bring him here?" "What did he say?"_

Cory waited for the expected onslaught on questions to stop. "Look, its easier if I tell you from the beginning. Because I don't know if he's safe, I don't know where he went, I couldn't bring him here but if you let me speak I can tell you what he said." He waited for the three adults to nod.

"Okay, so Morgan is playing with some little kids on the monkey bars and I'm sitting on a bench feeding the ducks. Morgan's so called 'stinky guy' walks past me and stops by the trash can. I'm trying not to look because, boy, he really did have that unwashed stink of the homeless about him."

Turner saw Alan stir, about to interrupt again, but put a hand up to silence him. His face was intent on Cory's. The fact that his pupil had actually seen Shawn was all he needed to want to hear every detail.

"So I'm sitting there, debating whether to move further down wind when I hear what sounds like Shawnie, whispering to me. Just like that, _Cory, don't freak out_." Cory got up and took a carton of juice from the fridge before sitting and continuing. "I look around, thinking he's behind a bush. I don't see anyone but then the homeless person, the stinky guy, looks across at me. And it is Shawn. Shawn was Morgan's stinky guy which is why he left before she realized it was him and caused a scene."

"Wait." Turner interrupted with mixed anxiety and shock. "Shawn was pretending to be a homeless person? How? I mean – I don't know what I mean, but was he okay?"

Cory looked down at his juice, running his finger over the condensation forming. "I can only tell you what I saw. And I saw a homeless person. He didn't look like my Shawnie. He had this big hat on, and a long dirty old coat, and a scarf pulled up over part of his face. You know you played that film in English when we were doing Charles Dickens? Shawn looked liked the Artful Dodger in Fagin's coat. Without a top hat obviously. He was dirty, and he was hungry enough..." Cory trailed off. He wasn't sure Turner would want to hear what Shawn had been prepared to eat.

Feeney reach across the table to put a hand on Turner's arm. "Mister Matthews, I think you had better tell the rest. As bad as it sounds Jonathan, you at least know he's still here."

"Um, okay." Cory took a sip of juice, suddenly aware how lucky he was to be able to simply go to a fridge and help himself to what he needed any time of the day or night. "Shawn got angry at me for throwing bread to the ducks when they weren't eating it. He said I should give it to him as he had only eaten an orange and was hungry. I tried to tell him the bread was stale but he said… he said it didn't matter considering he was looking in the trash to see if there was something to eat in there. So I gave him the rest of the bread and he ate some. I wish I'd known Dad. I would have had some candy bars, or money for a burger… or just a can of soda. I didn't know though, and I feel awful just sitting here drinking apple juice in a clean kitchen from a fresh carton when my best friend is limping about happy to eat some old bread."

Cory put his hands over his face, breathing deeply. "Its okay Cor," Alan replied quietly. "You weren't to know. None of us would have guessed what lengths Shawn would go to. Or just how alone Shawn felt himself to be that he would go to such lengths to remain hidden from everyone."

"I tried to tell him!" Cory explained, his distress apparent. "Its not like I just wanted to let Shawn go, not when I'd only just found him! I told him he wasn't like, on a wanted list. And that the police had been searching for him because he was classed as a vulnerable run-away, but Shawn was still -" Cory paused, searching for what he meant. "Shawn was still behind enemy lines. As far as he thinks, the world is against him. I think. Sometimes its hard to me to read what Shawn thinks."

Turner let out a slight groan and sighed. "One more thing Cory. Limping?"

Cory knew Turner would pick up on that. "Yeah. Sorry, I can't say it didn't look bad because he must have properly sprained his ankle and the only reason he could walk away was because he had an old shopping cart to lean on. Shawn had to hang onto it with one hand just to turn and catch the bread I threw to him."

The kitchen chair fell over with a jarring crash as Turner stood abruptly. "Yet you didn't stop him? You didn't find out where he was staying? You find Shawn and come here to tell us he's gone again, what good does that do?"

Alan stood up slowly and put a precautionary hand on Turner's arm. "What good," he said with a quiet anger, "does yelling at my son do?"

Feeney rapped on the table for attention. "Sit down Jon, Alan. I know you care about Shawn, but Cory cares about him too, and if I know Mister Matthews he wouldn't let Shawn disappear without there being something more. So. S_it Down_**.**"

"I'm sorry Matthews… its just _Shawn. _I have been worried out of my mind."

Cory looked gratefully at his father and Feeney and waited for the now chastened Turner to sit. "I couldn't stop him, not with Morgan running over to grass on me for talking to strangers. I may not know where he is staying and I wouldn't have been able to get him to come here, not how he looked. But I do know where Shawn will be at half six this evening."

He looked in triumph between the three men. "Shawn promised to be back at the bench at half six. He has my watch to return. And I have an idea that Shawn hopefully will be happy enough to go along with, that will get him into your apartment Mister Turner. I think Shawn knows that after five days living rough he has to either accept our help, or he's only going to be going down a dark road to nowhere. I guess he knows he will have to speak to the police, but one thing at a time. Once he is safe, and we've had time to sort him out, talk to him, then he may be able to see that. But if my plan is to work, we will need some bags of old clothes and Dad's work van. You're gonna need to make sure your window over the fire escape is unlocked Mister Turner. Oh. And I think we may need to pick up either something that gets rid of fleas or lice. Because Shawn was hellish itchy with one or the other, or both."

– – –

There was a dreadful sense of exposure, being out on the streets during the afternoon. Cory had only half-convinced Shawn that he wasn't still a fugitive, or that at any point someone passing would point him out as that run-away kid from the news. What he wanted to do was find somewhere to curl up and hide for a few hours. Until it was time to go back to the park.

Shawn kept his head down and tried to keep to side streets and back alleyways as much as possible, no destination planned, just moving for something to do as he deliberated over his encounter with Cory. His best friend was always there for him, that was the important fact. No matter what Shawn had done, or been accused of, or how much he'd screwed up over the past five days, Cory had found him. And Cory always knew the right thing to do.

But… Shawn paused for a moment to take a mouthful of water. The bottle might not have been exactly clean, but at least he had been able to fill it from the drinking fountain at the park entrance before an enraged mother had exclaimed and scared him away. But what if Cory's idea of the right thing to do meant going to the police? He didn't feel ready to face that yet. Not like this, unprepared for what they were going to ask.

So what was Cory planning? Shawn knew his friend had to have some wild plan in mind when he'd insisted that Shawn take his watch to meet up again at half six.

He began walking again, not interested in what the plan was suddenly. It didn't matter what the details were, all that mattered was that Cory cared enough for him to try, and that was some consolation. He wasn't entirely alone after all. And for the stressed out, grieving, exhausted teen, that was just enough.

_I always thought I was tough, but I'm not, I'm not at all. Everyone at school has always painted me as Shawn, the kid from the wrong side of town, fearless. Well, guess what people, I've spent pretty much every day for a few months now being anything but fearless. I've been scared, and weak, and screwed up everything. I didn't stand up to Eddie, and have a great collection of scars to prove how weak I was. I've been scared every day that I'll slip up and someone will see them, and then terrified of what Eddie would do to me, or Cory, or Turner, or any of the Matthews, if that happened. I spent weeks being angry at my Dad for not being there, when he was lying all alone in some woods, waiting to be stumbled upon._

_I don't know what happened to Dad, except he didn't make it out and I didn't get to say goodbye to him. If I had been strong enough to face Eddie, maybe it wouldn't have gotten so bad so fast. Maybe Eddie would have left the trailer, left him alone, left Dad alive… But I wasn't strong._

Shawn rubbed his eyes, hating that he seemed on the verge of tears all the time. Some Hunter. The side alley he found himself at was quiet enough for him to rest up in for an hour or so. There was no point going back to the motel, he hadn't the energy. And hopefully he would never have to go there again.

He picked his way through the rubbish and squatted, unseen and hoping to stay invisible, on the far side of a rusting red garbage can, covered in graffiti tags. Surveying the crushed cans, broken bottles and burnt foil that littered the ground Shawn knew that this was the very bottom of where his rash decision to live on the streets could one day take him. He couldn't become that person, he had to trust Cory to save him from this.

– – – –

A fine drizzle fell over Brownsville in Brooklyn. It didn't improve the view from the grimed window Eddie stared blankly out of. It wasn't an area to inspire even without the rain graying over everything. He saw nothing, lost in his own thoughts. The view behind him was, if anything, less inspiring. The squat he had escaped to was emblazoned in graffiti, full of garbage and lacking in furniture other than dank looking mattresses and a beat up sofa, currently occupied by the two stoners who had accepted his presence without question. At least, not once he had brought their co-operation with a few threats and a bag of dope. Luckily there were still people he knew from prison who would do him a favor and give him the contacts needed when it became clear his attempts to throw blame would be short-lived.

His knife danced between the fingers of his left hand, beating a tattoo on the window sill. Eddie didn't think about what he was doing, he just liked to relax by playing Russian roulette with a knife seeing how quickly he could make it jump from between finger to finger without flinching or drawing blood. It allowed his mind to be elsewhere, contemplating the dark path that had ultimately led to him fleeing here. He didn't feel unhappy about his situation exactly, even if things had not gone entirely to plan. But thinking of the deed that had put him here… that gave Eddie a strange sense of exhilaration.

"Dude, can you stop that already?" The skinny one with the ratty goatee Eddie knew only as Ferret whined from the sofa. "I mean, just chill man, you're disturbing the cartoons."

Eddie stopped his knife play momentarily to glance over his shoulder. The T.V set was playing the Disney channel without sound, awash with the garish colors of whatever kids' show Ferret was staring at through a plume of smoke. He turned fully. "How can I disturb something that you haven't even got the sound on for?"

"Its the Gummi Bears man. You don't need sound for Gummi Bears." Ferret waved a hand aimlessly at the T.V. "Besides, you were freaking me out. I don't like the sight of blood."

"Oh. You don't." Eddie virtually pounced across the room and knelt over Ferret pressing his knife against the others cheek. "How about I make you bleed then, and you might just keep freaking quiet. Huh? You want that? You wanna bleed a little, or you want to shut the hell up?"

"Whoa. Hey. Um. Whoa." The other occupant of the sofa roused himself enough to take an interest, blearily. Of a bigger build than Ferret, and introduced as Chubby Zeke, glassy eyes stared from a pale, doughy face under an unruly mop of black hair. "Drastic. I get that you need your space to do what you need to do, but cutting up the Ferret is just a bit intense for now. I need something stronger than this if you're gonna start Ferret slicing." He held out his hand, smoke curling up to the yellow stained ceiling. "Calm it down dude. Have a smoke. Watch the Gummi Bears."

Eddie slowly withdrew his knife and flopped onto the stained sofa between Chubby Zeke and Ferret. Pair of wasters. "I could kill you both, you know. Its incredibly easy." But he took the proffered smoke and inhaled deeply. "Gummi bears suck anyway. I prefer Darkwing Duck."

Eddie wasn't sure at what point he decided to kill Chet. He still wasn't sure even now what had prompted him. But he had been sitting outside the trailer, having a quiet smoke in the afternoon when his father had driven up in his truck. Which was surprising enough, seeing as he had ran out two weeks ago without a word.

– – – –

"Well, I didn't expect to see you back here anytime soon. Shawn thought you'd run out on him for good this time."

Chet eased himself out of the driver's seat and looked uncomfortable for a moment before his usual bluster took over. "I know, I know. I should have left word, but I got a job offer I couldn't turn down and had to take it immediately. And it wasn't entirely legit y'see, so I didn't want to let lil' Shawnie know I was doing anything… um… not exactly on the up and up." He winked over to Eddie, still unsure as to how to read his eldest son's moods. "But I made a bit of cash and decided was about time I came back to check on my boys. And because I figured I may need to make it up to Shawn, me leaving an' all, I thought I'd give him a nice little surprise when he gets outta school."

Eddie ground his cigarette into the dry dirt and circled the truck, his manner neutral. "That what this is, in the back of the truck? Camping gear and fishing rods?" He lifted a rod and let it drop, a hint of sarcasm in his voice now. "You planning a little father-son bonding trip then?"

"Well now, hey." Chet scratched his head and shrugged. "Its not been easy for Shawn around here lately. Me an' him, maybe some camping would be a good chance to reconnect. You get the trailer to yourself for a few nights." he added hopefully.

"Yeah, isn't that _nice_." So once again it is the Runt who gets all the attention, who everyone wants to please. Dad wants to play happy families with the Runt, how Mr Rogers of him. Eddie swallowed his anger. Partly. "Where you planning on going camping then, just the two of you?"

"Oh hey." Chet shifted, suddenly interested in making sure the camping gear was secure in the back of his truck. "Me and Shawn need some time together, I gotta make things right for that boy. That's not to say you wouldn't be welcome another time. Hell, we could make it a proper family excursion next time. You, me, Shawn, have a little fishing trip? I was thinking of somewhere in the Valley park."

Eddie didn't know what prompted him, but he was fingering the knife in his pocket as he spoke. "That would be good. And you're right, you and Shawn should have some time together." He glanced away, knowing his eyes would blaze out a different message to his words. It was always about the Runt. Always would be. He kept his voice soft. "How come you never wanted to go camping with me then, when I was Shawn's age?"

There was an awkward silence, Eddie leaning, arms folded, on the tail gate of the truck, Chet making a poor pretense of checking the tent. "Well," Chet finally turned and said, "I know I was a poor father to you. Its not like I didn't want to… but back when you were a kid, me and your Mom, we was both drinking a lot and I guess… I guess we both messed up. And boy, your Mom, she didn't want nothing to do with me after she left with you."

Chet gave a soft depreciating laugh, without any humor. "Oh I messed up for a good number of years. You and your Mom left, I got involved with another woman. She left with -" he paused. "Well, lets just say she left too. It was easier to just keep drinking and getting by. You didn't seem like you wanted much to do with me. Then I got involved with Shawn's Mom, and she ran out leaving me holding a baby I didn't know how to look after." Chet sighed. "I met Virna at an AA meeting and I thank the Lord I did 'cos she loved little Shawn from the first time she saw his little diapered butt." He looked up at Eddie, eyes uncharacteristically moist. "I ain't been a good father to any of you, but I swore to Virna I would try with Shawn."

A delightfully dark flame of joy lit itself inside Eddie. So Virna wasn't Shawn's real Mom. He knew something that Shawn didn't know and that was power. Wherever Virna was, it didn't matter, because she wasn't Shawn's Mom. Oh, how he could picture the look on the Runt's face if he told him that piece of news. Eddie couldn't help grinning, knowing Chet had let slip more than intended. "So..." he drew out. "Who is Shawn's mother?"

"Um. Look, Eddie, you can't tell Shawn this." Chet was wary of Eddie's moods but this was too important for him to back away from. He looked serious and poked Eddie in the chest. "You _do not_ tell Shawnie that. Understood?" At Eddie's brief nod he looked relieved. "It would do Shawn no good knowing that Virna ain't his real Mom. Or that I'd keep that from him. Truth is..." Chet sighed again, heavily. "Truth is his mother was a stripper I was with for almost a year. But soon as she had given birth it was -" Chet mimed catching a football. "And she said she was popping out to the store then never came back. Dunno what happened to her. New low for me. All the other women I've been with, they wanted their kid, they didn't want ol' Chet. Elaine though, she didn't want either of us. That is why I wanna try and do right by Shawnie. Not that I'm doing such a great job. I don't even know where to go camping with him."

Eddie let his finger slide up and down the blade in his pocket. Inside he felt angry beyond reason, beyond mere anger. He was something new entirely. Something dark and terribly exciting scrabbled to be unleashed in his mind. Outwardly though, he appeared calm and supportive. "I know some places in Valley Park, a bit off the main trails but they would be perfect for your and Shawn's little camp out. Me and you may not to get to have a camping trip this time but it would be cool if the two of us could head out there this afternoon and scout out someplace that you can show Shawn later."

His smile didn't reach his eyes, but Chet was too happy to hear of this change of heart to notice. "How about it Dad? You and me, take a drive up there and have us a bit of a hike about, find a sweet spot and that way, when Shawn's home later, you can take him straight there." Eddie looked down, a hint of faked disappointment showing. "That way… that way I'll feel like I'm involved in this father-son stuff too. I haven't had a lot of that."

He allowed himself a smirk as Chet gave him a bear hug. Some buttons were just too easy to press.

"Hell boy, that sounds like a plan!" Chet pulled himself back into the driver's seat of the truck. "No time to be wasting, you hop in shotgun and we'll have us a father-son pre-camp trip drive huh."

"Yeah, great. Just let me grab a jacket." Eddie went back into the trailer, his mind buzzing. Without really thinking he grabbed one half of Shawn's broken skateboard from where he had hidden it in the bottom of a cupboard and stuffed it into a rucksack. Tugging on a jacket he rejoined his father in the truck. "All set. Let's go see some woods. _Dad._"

– – –

It had been so easy. Easy to manipulate Chet into doing as he wished. Easy to ensure Chet was on CCTV on a few store cams so his last movements would be traceable. Easy enough to keep a hoodie pulled up and slouch down in the passenger seat so to the casual observer it would appear to be possibly a smaller, younger person. Eddie didn't think it would be any less easy to come up with a reasonable alibi to cover today and tomorrow. His ex-girlfriend was still malleable if she knew she'd score of him and he had enough loyal members of his gang who would go along with whatever he asked of them. There was still the problem of the truck, but Eddie was confident in his contacts that he would be able to find someone willing not to ask too many questions. Someone who could fix up new plates and a re-spray at least.

They had been driving for a couple of hours before Eddie knew for certain what he was planning to do. It was simple. His father had never loved him, but he loved Shawn. And the Runt didn't deserve it. What was so special about him, not Eddie? Why should the Runt have a father, when he'd never had either parent caring what happened to him? It was simple, and it was far darker. Eddie wanted to, because he knew he could. He wanted to see what it felt like. The rush he had gotten inflicting pain on Shawn would be nothing compared to this. A school counselor had once written in a report on 13 year old Eddie that he suspected sociopathic tendencies. Eddie hadn't understood the word and didn't care. He had however given the counselor a black eye and enjoyed another session of suspension and class exclusion.

Chet turned to his eldest son, finally ceasing his singing along to the radio. "Valley Park. We'd best park up and have us a walk, I want to find a good place to camp for when I come up with Shawnie. And I don't want to get back too late, I wanna see my boy and tell him about the trip."

"Relax." Eddie forced a fake smile whilst inwardly seething at the precedence Chet once more put on is youngest son's feelings. "You know when you go off Shawn goes over to stay with that Matthew's kid. He won't get in until after dark." He allowed himself a brief grin of satisfaction. He knew Shawn ran about the parks and streets until long after dark, sometimes showing up barely before midnight when he knew his Dad wasn't there. And that meant Shawn was unlikely to have any way of proving where he was.

They began to walk through the park as the afternoon faded slowly into evening, Chet beginning a long and improbable story about the time he had gone moose hunting with the Canadian Prime Minister and been they'd been chased by a black bear. Eddie let the story wash over him, leading the way off the main trails and onto smaller tracks into the woods.

"Of course, if it weren't for those Mounties riding up things could've gone a lot worse." Chet paused and looked around the small clearing, wheezing slightly from the unaccustomed walking. "Whoa there. I need to stop and take a breather. And this looks as good a place as any." He sat heavily on a fallen pine and looked about. It was kind of pretty with the sun setting turning the clearing into dusky shades of gold. "This could be just the right place to bring Shawn. I could fix up the tents here. Looks like someone has once had a camp fire down here too. Not so far out I'm gonna bust my gut walking here, but far enough so we have privacy."

Eddie squatted behind Chet, removing his rucksack and slowly unzipping it. "Yeah, its perfect. Privacy. You said it."

"Yep. I don't always get many good ideas but I know this is a good idea." Chet turned to look at Eddie over his shoulder. "Shawn -" He broke off his smile fading with puzzlement. "Why'd you need to bring that with you?"

The broken half of skateboard felt a nice weight in his hands. Eddie hefted it thoughtfully, looking down at Chet. "Sentimental reasons." he stated blandly. "Scientific reasons." There was no warning. With Chet still sitting half-turned, frowning with confusion, Eddie raised the board up and smashed it with all his strength onto the back of his father's head. There was still enough light left in the day for him to see the edge of the skateboard was darkly sticky with blood.

Chet made an unintelligible sound, and slowly toppled sideways from the tree trunk to sprawl almost face down on the earth. "TIMBER!" Eddie called out, laughing. "Whats up, been drinking again?" He crouched and regarded his handiwork with interest. Guess ol' Chet's head wasn't as thick skulled as he'd have supposed. Or he'd hit him a lot harder than he'd hit the Runt. The Runt had bled, but this way more fascinating. The back of Chet's head had a definite concave area now.

Eddie poked the terrible wound, feeling broken bone fragments. His father, now just a curiosity to Eddie, twitched helplessly and made an incoherent protest. "Reckon I've scrambled what little brains you might've had in there." he said conversationally. "Well, you ain't dead yet old man. I'm gonna keep you alive for a while longer. You can't die until I say so." He touched the shattered edges of Chet's skull again, harder, watching without compassion as the body jerked.

He didn't know what Chet was trying to say as it was garbled half-sounds partly muffled by the earth. Didn't really matter. "No good trying to beg now." Eddie smiled. "I'm going to be doing you a favor when I finish you. If I got help to you now, you'd be a freak, a vegetable." He crouched low to stare into his father's face. "I'm doing you a _kindness_."

It was an agonizing few hours for Chet, but at least towards the end he was barely aware of what was happening. As Eddie finally let the remaining life bleed out from Chet's neck he felt only a strange euphoria. He had done it. And it had been so easy!

Eddie wiped his knife on Chet's jacket, and walked a little way off from the clearing to push Shawn's broken skateboard under a bush. He thrust his gloves back into his jacket and took one final look back at what had been his father, now mostly in shadow.

He whistled to himself as he made his way back along the trails to the spot where the truck was parked.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: not mine. Except in an alternate reality. As always thanks for reading, and thanks to new reviews from Daisy, The Marauder's Secret, Haya and liana miller.**

Chapter Twelve

It was a beautiful sunset with the park bathed in the last rays of gold, orange glints rippling off the duck pond. Turner didn't have a whole lot of appreciation for the glory of nature at that moment though. He was anxious, full of adrenaline, uncertain still whether Shawn would keep his promise to Cory and actually turn up. He checked his watch, for possibly the twentieth time. Quarter past 6. Still early. Turner picked one of the benches by the duck pond and sat down. He felt slightly odd just sitting in the park alone, with nothing to do but wait and watch.

He discreetly glanced about, trying to see if there was any sign of Shawn. The moms had been replaced by occasional dog walkers or runners, the little kids by a small group of teens hanging out by the monkey bars. It was just a place to meet up, away from parents. They were probably in one of his classes. As soon as he had passed there had been a quiet murmuring, then raucous laughter, no doubt at his expense.

Another quick glance at his watch. 06:18. Turner sighed and scanned the park again. To his left, just the teens, being teenagers. Brave in their group, sharing illicitly bought cigarettes, loud, swearing, laughing, flirting. Being just kids. To his right… not a lot. A stand of trees, on the path a woman picking up her dog's waste in a baggie, her face pulled into a moue of disgust.

She caught Turner watching as she dumped the bag into the nearby litter bin and glared at him. _Whoa lady, _Turner thought, _ I'm not the one dumping my dog's crap into the litter bin, when there is a specific bin for that at the entrance to the park. _He checked his watch, yet again. God, what was wrong with him! He hadn't been this nervous waiting to pick up his date for his senior prom!

Turner pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket, cursing under his breath as the stubby antennae caught on the lining briefly. He looked down at the small, glowing green screen and tapped it nervously for a moment. Damn it. He typed a text message, realizing any of the teenagers across the way would have been able to do it twice as fast as he was. CAN'T SEE SHAWN ANYWHERE. ARE YOU HERE YET? Turner scrolled down to Alan Matthew's number and hit send.

He had barely waited two minutes before there was a double beep for a reply. _W8. Shawn will B there. In traffic, B 5 mins. _

Had to be Cory replying on his father's 'phone, if Alan was still driving. Turner mentally shook his head. Kids get into sending texts so easily, but it was hell for an English teacher, to see how quickly language could be abbreviated and mutilated. As long as it never got to the point when they actually started speaking that way, or, God forbid, start handing in their homework in text language!

For something to occupy himself, Turner went through his messages, deleting old ones. He sadly didn't have that many. He wrinkled his nose as a slightly dank aroma came to him, akin to wet dog but worse. Turner looked up slowly, afraid of what he would see. What he saw broke his heart.

If he hadn't known Shawn was going to be at the park, Turner wouldn't have acknowledged him. Cory had not done justice in his description to how far Shawn had fallen. He was a motley accrual of grime and filthy, old clothes, his slight frame engulfed by the length of the coat. Turner couldn't see Shawn's face at all. There was just a dark shadow between an old black scarf and a greasy looking trapper hat. If it wasn't for the boots, and the fact that Turner had been pre-warned by Cory that Shawn would be leaning on a shopping cart because of his sprained ankle, he would have let Shawn slip past his eyes without thought.

"Oh hell, Shawn..." Turner began sadly, then stopped. He was lost for words. "I'm so glad to see you, but I wish I wasn't seeing you like this bud. I've missed you and I've been so worried about you, what you've been going through this week. Why couldn't you have called me?"

Shawn pulled the ragged scarf down from his face and looked across at Turner, still wary and guarded. He absently scratched behind his ear, trying to order his tired thoughts. "Where's Cory?" he finally said hoarsely. "Cory said he'd be here." He gave Turner a look of mixed distrust, fear and panic. "Cory said he'd be here." he repeated. "I'm not going to the Police, and you can't make me."

The small chin jutted defiantly, belying the tremor in Shawn's voice.

Turner felt inwardly crushed by the lack of the once close bond he had shared with Shawn, and could only hope it could be somehow repaired now. Shawn had always had difficulties with allowing others in, why couldn't he see that he was loved, that people did care for him?

Okay then. If he was really committed to being the kid's legal guardian, to being, effectively, his father figure, it started now and here. As ever with Shawn, small steps, trying to coax him onto the right path. "Shawn," Turner said gently, "I'm not going to make you do anything you're not ready okay little bud? But please, just come here. Sit down." He patted the bench and looked over to Shawn, still leaning against the shipping cart, still regarding him suspicion. Okay, so sometimes it had to be small steps, other times it had to be a command.

"Shawn!" Turner barked. "Sit. Down." He took a deep breath. "Cory is near. This is all his crazy plan."

At that Shawn felt a little more relieved. If this was a Cory scheme he knew it would all be okay, somehow. He wouldn't have to spend another night on the roof, he wouldn't have to go to the police. Cory would make everything right. He always did.

Shawn hobbled over to the bench and sat at the furthest end from Turner. "So, where is Cory?" He glanced quickly at Turner. "And I don't suppose you've got anything to eat do you?" he added.

_Oh Shawn._ Turner dug a cereal bar and juice box from his pocket and slid them across the bench, frowning as Shawn wolfed down the bar in three bites. If he had thought Shawn needed feeding up a few weeks ago, that was intensified now. The boy's eyes were glazed with exhaustion, sunken in darkly shadowed sockets. Turner ached inside at how small, vulnerable and pained Shawn seemed.

So… first step achieved, he had gotten Shawn to sit – sort of. If you called sitting hunched into yourself, a tension strung gaze flickering back and forth.

Small steps, Turner reminded himself again. _Shawn the wolf. Shawn the stray. _There were some things that had to be done slowly. "Relax Shawn. No one is going to jump out on you. And, well, we've gone along with Cory's plan as he said it was the only way to help you. My plan was to park up in a car, toss you into the back and high tail it over the state lines."

Turner was rewarded by a faint grin. "But I didn't want us to become outlaws for the rest of our lives, so we went with Cory's plan."

Shawn crushed the empty juice box and threw it across the path to the litter bin. It bounced off the rim and landed inside. He allowed himself another faint grin at the small victory. Shawn turned to look at Turner, still guarded. "So, what now? I feel kinda weird sitting here. I know some of the kids over there, if they knew…" Shawn stopped, and let out an exasperated sigh. "And you can stop looking at me like that Jon. I _know_ how I look. I know I stink." Unable to stop himself, his hands pushed the greasy bangs off his forehead. "Hell Jon! I've not washed for a week, I've not brushed my teeth, I've been in the same clothes… I know how it is without you giving me pity stares. I've only slept 'cos I'm so damn tired I can't do anything else. And every time I sleep I..." Shawn faltered. There were some things he couldn't share. "I have dreams." he finished softly, looking down.

He stared at the concrete between his feet. "In truth Jon, it doesn't matter what Cory's scheme is. Only that he cared enough to make one. That he found me, like he always does. 'Cos I can't do _this_ any longer. I know I've screwed up so much that nothing is ever gonna be right again. But I can't do this any more. So tell me Jon, what it is I'm supposed to do, 'cos I'm through making decisions. The ones I make all seem to suck."

Turner wished he could just hug Shawn but – aside from the issue regarding Shawn's current personal hygiene – he knew Shawn's personal space was an exclusion zone he had to be invited into. "You don't always make the best judgments Shawn, not when things seem out of control for you. But I _know_ you. At least I think I do… And you have a good moral compass and you are not a screw up. But you do go into panic-mode and end up self-destructing when you don't let people in." Turner checked his watch. "The plan was I would meet you here to give Cory and Alan time to get into position."

He nodded at Shawn's raised eyebrow. "I know. Operation Hunter. I wanted to meet you 'cos there was no way I was going to wait at the apartment for you. But Cory's plan is – albeit a little convoluted – just to get you back to the apartment."

"No police?" Shawn queried.

"Nope buddy. No police. Not until you are ready." Turner pulled his phone out, sending a brief text to Alan. He spoke as he typed. "You've got to go northern park exit, where the clothing bin is. You know the one, Clothes for Humanity I think? One of them causes."

Shawn let out a short, humorless laugh. "Oh, I know it."

"Well, Cory and his Dad will have a van parked up there. They'll be putting old clothes into the bin as a cover for being there. You walk over, hop in the back of Alan's van. No one will see you, I promise it will be okay. They then drive to my place and I meet you all there on the Harley. If anyone is interested enough to be looking it will be as though me, Alan and Cory are having a friendly movies and pizza night."

Turner paused. If Cory's plan backfired Shawn would be gone from him forever as he didn't think it would take much for the teen to disappear on them again. He just hoped either Shawn's speech about not wanting to be on the streets anymore, or the fact that he wasn't able to move very fast, would keep him with them.

He looked across at Shawn, seeing doubt rage against forlorn hope on the thin, filthy face. "Like I said, Cory's plan may be more complicated than my plan to throw you in a car, but he's convinced it is the right way to do things. However, there could be one problem Cory has overlooked."

Shawn gnawed at his bottom lip, his hands running nervously up and down the handle of his trolley. "What? Cory's schemes always work. They do. It has to… why wouldn't it?"

"Because when Alan parks his van at the back of mine, you've got only two ways to get into the apartment." Turner paused. "You either come in via the front door with us or… you climb up the fire escape to go in through the window." He pointed to Shawn's leg. "On that. I don't know what you've done to it but I know you can barely hop a few meters to sit on a bench without support. I don't know if you'll be able to climb that far."

Shawn laughed harshly before pressing his hands to his eyes briefly. "Oh for Chri..." He shook his head. Climbing down one fire escape had given him the bum ankle that would stop him being rescued by not being able to climb another? "Well, I guess I know what irony is now." he muttered angrily. "Seems you ain't done teaching me English after all."

At Turner's look of inquiry Shawn merely pointed at his ankle. "I sprained this falling off a fire escape." Shawn's face set in a familiar look of defiance, defiance of the World's disregard for him. Turner knew no matter how hurt Shawn was, the teen would push himself to the very limit to prove a point. He wasn't wrong.

"Call it fate, call it what you like. It can kiss my a..." Shawn stopped, with a guilty look in Turner's direction. "Well it can." he ended sheepishly. "I'm _not_ spending another night sleeping under plastic. I will make it in that window. Ain't been a window yet I couldn't climb into."

– – – –

Turner watched the Shawn limp his way to the park exit, just a diminutive, disheveled homeless person now, little different to any other. Except this one was Shawn, their Shawn. And the World wasn't allowed to keep Shawn like this. At least the parts of Cory's plan were slowly falling into place. It tore him inside to allow Shawn to leave, wanting to simply grab him, protect him, try and find the boy under the filth, bravado and fear. Hell, part of him just wanted to shake some sense into Shawn and yell.

But no. Shawn had made it clear that when he felt unable to trust anyone else, he would still have absolute faith in Cory. And the sheer fact that this was Cory's scheme made it okay for Shawn to go along with it. And, ultimately, if it meant getting Shawn to safety, well, that was another small step in the right direction. Dealing with the police, helping Shaw deal with not only his father's death, but the _manner_ of his father's death, that would come later.

Turner stood up, knowing that now he had committed himself to being part of Shawn's life for the long-haul, it was going to be a complex and difficult journey to help the fractured teenager. He began to jog back through the oncoming dark to regain his Harley and complete the next stage of Cory's plan.

– – – –

It wasn't the most likely place to stage a rescue, with a van backed up to a charity clothing bin, the scrubby trees and bushes on either side festooned with tattered carrier bags and ragged shreds of clothing like the world's worst bunting. Cory went to check his watch, before realizing Shawn still had it. He felt like a bad actor, slowing taking clothes from the bags in the back of the van and pushing them into the metal charity bin. It sure was going through his Mom's good will pile quickly.

But this was his scheme and it was a good scheme. There was no way it could fail. At least… this time he hoped not.

"Dad, what time is it?" he called out.

Alan poked his head out of the van's window and craned backwards to see his son. "Just gone 7. I hope..."

"No." Cory stopped him, his voice quiet but firm. "It gonna work. I know it will." His Dad and Turner had both been skeptical when he had first explained it, both wanting varieties on the grab Shawn off the streets and drive. What they finally had to accept was that Shawn would only let himself be rescued if he had trust in someone enough to come in off his own volition.

He continued to retrieve some of the good will clothes from the back of the van and push them through the slot, lit by the light coming from inside the van. Megan's old Hello Kitty sweatshirt was followed by his outgrown mustard check shirt. _Ah, we had some fun times didn't we? _

There was a slight movement in the darkness by the bushes and Cory looked up, squinting. "Hey Shawnie." he called quietly. "Over here."

A shadow detached itself and limped closer, finally abandoning the shopping cart. The two boys looked at one another for a moment, the yin and yang of what made them friends. "You came." Cory said simply, smiling.

"Yeah…" Shawn hesitated then dug in the coat pocket for a second before handing Cory back his watch. "I at least had to give you your present back."

Cory reached out and took back his watch. _To my best friend, Cory. _He impulsively grabbed Shawn's wrist, he face suddenly serious. "Shawn..." he began, "you can't do this again. Really. You just can't."

Shawn stared at his friend's hand on his arm, struck by the contrast in how clean it was compared to his own. He was too ashamed to meet Cory's solemn look. "Yeah," he sighed, "I know. Jon's said it too. Don't worry, I know I've been an idiot."

"No Shawn." Cory shook his head. "I don't just mean the becoming a homeless person this week. I mean you can't keep going into a tailspin when stuff happens, and taking off. What would you have done if we'd not met in the park, where would you have gone tonight, or next week?"

"I don't know!" Weariness made Shawn sound more irritated than he meant. He pulled his wrist out of Cory's grasp. "I'd have gone to a shelter I guess eventually. Heck, even that place, The Centre, takes in street kids. It looked creepy and weird at the beginning of the week, but now a hot shower and food..." He trailed off, shrugging.

"Yeah, great idea." Cory replied sarcastically. "You'd turn to strangers or a bunch of fruit loops."

"Shawn." Alan moved around the side of the van, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. He was barely able to hide his dismay and shock at his son's friend's appearance. "You had people who would have given you shelter, hot food and a shower. We were here all the time. You're family, and your home is with us, or Jonathan. When life deals you a bad hand, that is who you turn to not strangers."

"I know." Shawn looked down, suddenly aware of tears pricking his eyes. He didn't know what he had done to deserve the kindness of the Matthews, given the trouble he had caused. "I know… or I know better now."

"Yeah Shawn… you're right, you are an idiot." Cory grinned to lighten the mood. "And you smell just… delightful."

Shawn grinned back wryly. "I guess you had better crank the windows down for the drive then."

Cory and his father swapped a look of relief as Shawn hopped into the back of the van and sat down. "Come on son," Alan said, closing the van's back doors. "Lets get back to Jonathan's. Sooner Shawn gets in a shower the better for us all."

Before driving off though he stole a look back at the filthy teenager. Shawn was leaning against the van wall, legs splayed out in front of him, arms hugging himself. Now he knew whatever happened next was out of his hands, exhaustion had overcome him. What worried Alan though was the emptiness in the usually expressive blue eyes. He'd had a buddy in the Coast Guard, a guy in his late fifties who had done active duty in Vietnam. He had described seeing some of the kids coming back from patrol – '_They all had this 1000 yard stare, worn beyond endurance, emotionally spent by what they had to do._'

Alan started the van and pulled out into the street. Hopefully now they had him, they could finally start helping Shawn recover from his physical ordeal, and his grief.


	13. Chapter 13

**Usual old disclaimer nonsense, and welcome to Chapter 13! Unlucky for some BUT not for Shawn. Yay! As always your reviews and comments are always welcome, thank you to new reviews from Guests, Jasmine, lauryn, pippin and Gaby Wynne. Also I think I will have to accept my proof reading skills suck as I noticed more errors in the last chapter so I'm putting my OCD about that on the back burner and will start on Chapter 14 instead. :)**

Chapter Thirteen

_Calm down man! _Turner told himself crossly. _They'll be here. Shawn will be here soon._

It had not taken him long to return to the apartment, making much faster time weaving through the late evening traffic on his Harley than Alan could in his van. This had the disadvantage that now Turner had more time to worry and pace the floor, unable to stop constantly checking the window to see if the van was pulling in, or his 'phone to see if there was a text message. He hoped no message meant that everything had gone to plan.

But what if Cory was wrong, that this stupid scheme of his backfired and Shawn decided to take off – like if a cop drove past at the wrong time and spooked him?

_No,_ Turner chided his inner doubt-voice. _You're being ridiculous and panicking because getting those guardianship papers signed has finally made it sink in how much you really care for Shawn, and how scared you are that you've practically inherited a teenage son. And one that does not come with instructions but does bring a trailer load of baggage. More baggage than he had realized when he first took Shawn into his home._

"C'mon, C'mon," he said to himself. "How long can it take to drive a few blocks?"

Turner checked in the bathroom again. Needlessly as he knew everything was there, but needed something to do. Amongst the clothes Shawn had left here he had managed to find clean socks, shorts and an old pair of gray sweat pants that had probably once been Cory's. And an unmistakably Shawn hoodie, faded black with NOFX emblazoned across the front. Now all neatly folded in a pile on top of the laundry chest. It was lucky Shawn had left some clothes at the apartment, given that the trailer was still off limits, secured with police tape. That was _not_ something to tell Shawn tonight.

Turner had also hung his black bath robe on the back of the door. He didn't know why Shawn felt the need to constantly purloin that one item of his clothing anytime he was here, in any trouble, but accepted that at the moment whatever gave Shawn any sense of comfort or security was his for the taking.

_Holy crap. I have a… not a son. I have a what? A ward I guess. Signed over and sworn to guard, to protect. Guess I'm gonna have to up my game. _

As he was leaving the bathroom Turner glanced at the other 3 items on the vanity unit, bought earlier that day. Those were gonna be a fun conversation… not.

At the sharp knock and Cory's call out, Turner quickly went to let the Matthews in. Even though he had hoped the lack of any police presence outside would have persuaded Shawn to come in the front door, Turner wasn't surprised not to see him standing beside Cory.

Alan caught Turner's anxious look and shrugged. "Don't panic Jon, Shawn came along. But you know him. There is the easy way to do something, and then there is the Shawn way. He insisted on going up the fire escape." Insist was not quite the right word. In fact Shawn hadn't said anything. As soon as Alan had opened the van's back door he'd struggled to his feet, ignored all offers of help, and grimly began his hobbling ascent.

"Its going to be okay." Cory said calmly. He didn't know what would happen tomorrow or the next day. But that didn't matter right now. What mattered to him, right here and now, was that his friend would be safe. He'd have his Shawnie back.

Cory couldn't comprehend fully what Shawn had been through, but he knew if anything ever happened to his Dad he would be in pieces. Well, if he had to put Shawn's pieces back together again, he'd do whatever he had to.

He moved to the window, leaning out to come almost face to face with Shawn, panting with effort, face grimacing in pain. "Here." He held out his hand. "Stop being stubborn."

Shawn grabbed Cory's hand and let himself be helped into the room. He lurched to the kitchen counter and lent on it heavily, his glance skittishly flickering about the room as though half expecting someone to jump out at him. "So." Shawn paused to regain some control over his breathing. "You got me here. Now what."

"Come here Shawn." Turner said quietly. "Stop looking so wild-eyed. You're safe, trust me."

Safe… the word tasted strange in Shawn's mouth. When had he last felt truly safe for any length of time? But this was Turner, and on the small list of people Shawn was willing – if not always able – to trust. He let go of the counter top with one hand and took a couple of hopping steps, looking sideways to where Cory sat by the open window. "You don't need to be on guard duty Cor." Shawn said tiredly. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Ohhhh." Cory flushed, and pulled a face. "Um, sorry. That wasn't what I was thinking. I just… wanted the fresh air."

Shawn stared at Cory for a moment, then surprised everyone by laughing ruefully. "Oh Jesus, I forgot how much I much stink."

"Just a lot." Turner grinned. "Come on, sooner we get those clothes bagged up and binned, faster you get into the shower."

Shawn, unthinking, took a step and let out a grunt of shocked pain as he suddenly found himself sprawled on the floor, his ankle finally giving its ultimate protest at its recent rough treatment. "Oh." Shawn pushed himself so he was sitting on the floor, legs outstretched, a look of apologetic surprise on his face. "I'm sorry." He bent forwards trying to unlace the boot that had been his ankle's sole support. After a moment he looked up, eyes wide with a strange abashed horror. "I don't think I can get my boots off. Sorry. I don't..." Shawn blinked and looked down. "I didn't want help." he said quietly. "My feet probably smell pretty rancid too."

Alan motioned for Turner to sit, seeing the other man floundering. He knew Jonathan was new at this and still grappling with how he was to start being a substitute parent full time. But Alan had gone through raising three kids and, if he didn't know how to always handle Shawn emotionally, the practical stuff he could do. "I've got it Jon." Alan crouched in front of Shawn, with a hint of a smile. "I've dealt with sprains. And it would take a lot to gross me out. I survived Eric throwing up all over me when he'd had too many burritos and milkshakes before going on the rides at Six Flags. And I mean _all _over me."

"Yeah Dad, thanks for the gross-out image." Cory pulled a face and lent further out of the window as Shawn's boots were slowly eased off, still lined with carrier bags.

"Sorry kiddo." Alan had to admit Shawn's feet were pretty ripe but he ignored the smell as he gently peeled off a dank sock. Turner had come to crouch beside him, staring down with concern at the offending limb. "Whoa. You certainly banged that good. That is one hell of a sprained ankle." He looked over to Turner. "I'm hoping you have bandages somewhere about here."

"Man, you're not going to believe this but I've got plenty." Turner got up and rummaged in a kitchen cupboard for a moment before standing up with a box. "Tubular bandages, crepe bandages and adhesive bandages." He grinned. "I was going to go as the Mummy to a party last Halloween, but I split up with my date a week before hand." Turner was rewarded with laughter from Cory and Alan, but Shawn just continued to cock his head to stare up at him awkwardly. It took a moment for Turner to work out but then he realized. Somewhere under grime, under rags, under everything that Shawn was trying to deal with inwardly, there was the faintest impression of hope.

Alan broke the moment, his practicality coming to the fore. "Right. Jon, bin bags. Sorry Shawn, but everything you've got on is going straight into bags and into the bin."

Shawn sat numbly, lost inside himself as Alan threw the socks, scarf and hats into Turner's offered bin bag. He stared at nothing as the filthy coat was eased off his shoulders and pulled out from under him before it was also bundled into the bag. He wouldn't miss those for sure. He roused himself as Turner touched his shoulder. As always the ever present fear that he would reveal the marks left on him by Eddie reared its ugly head. "I can undress myself!" he said hotly, pushing Turner's hands away. "I don't need help!"

Turner exchanged a look of hurt and frustration with Alan as Shawn forced himself to his feet. "Shawn, you just fell flat on your butt on the floor trying to walk across the room." That tiny glimpse of hope, dashed again.

His jaw set Shawn held out his hand. "Gimme a bin bag. I'm having a shower. I don't need a freaking audience to do that." He didn't mean to sound so harsh, but the fluttering panic inside him was close to breaking out. Whatever happened, this was one secret he had kept for so long it terrified him that it would be discovered, that it would finally be laid bare what a coward he had been.

Turner could see the outstretched hand tremble and inwardly shook his head. Shawn would hyperventilate if he breathed any faster. It was impossible to predict what action, what word, would propel the teenager from acceptance to panic, but obviously getting in his personal space was still an issue. Turner capitulated. What else was he to do, wrestle Shawn into the shower? "Here." he said heavily. "Put everything in here. There are clean clothes in the bathroom for you. And Shawn, _don't_ lock the door. If you fall on your butt in there I don't want to be shoulder-busting the door open."

"I won't fall." Shawn said tensely. "I can manage. I'll be fine."

"Well, there is one more thing." Turner rubbed between his eyes briefly. "Um. I've left some, er, products in the bathroom." Why was he finding this so embarrassing? "For your, erm, lice problem. You're gonna have to leave the stuff on for ten minutes before washing it out, and there is a comb… to um, well, remove them all." He shrugged. "You'll have to read the instructions. Or shout if you need a hand."

He knew that would never happen. Shawn could be absolutely bloody-minded when he was in this mood and would endure needless pain hobbling about unaided before he'd admit he was not, as he always trotted out, _fine. _At least Shawn flushed under the dirt at the mention of his uninvited guests.

"Fine." Shawn ground out. "Whatever. I won't lock the door."

"Wait a minute." Cory had watched the interplay between his friend and his teacher with dismay. He didn't understand Shawn's sudden change in mood, but he would always try to find some way of appeasing the situation. "The kitchen stool is metal and plastic, it won't matter if it gets wet. If I put it in the shower, then its there in case you need to take the weight off your ankle."

Compromise reached, Shawn hobbled to the bathroom, determined not to show how much each step hurt. At least that was something he could do. Eddie had taught him something.

There was a tense silence after the bathroom door was slammed shut before Turner sighed. At least Shawn hadn't locked the door. "Why the h -" He stopped himself, aware that there were some things he couldn't blurt out in front of Cory. Certainly not about his best friend.

"Mister Turner?" Cory sat on the couch and spread his hands. "You've gotta understand, Shawn has always done everything for himself, since he was little. He taught me how to tie my laces when I couldn't get the hang of it."

Alan nodded. "Don't expect everything to be how it was Jon. But don't be hard on yourself either. After all, you were the only person Shawn wanted when he turned up on my doorstep after his fight. He needs you, even if he is one obstinate kid and will fight you every step of the way." At Cory's protest Alan sat next to his son and gave him a hug. "Okay. By the way, I'm proud of you. You did your friend the best you could for him. You're a good friend, and you're a great son."

Watching, Turner felt a pang. Would he ever have that kind of relationship with Shawn? Where he could just give him a hug and say I'm proud of you and not have it turned into a prickly outburst? He flopped onto the end of the couch next to Alan. "We may as well watch a little T.V. We've got a while to wait before I can order take-out." He paused. "But keep the volume low, huh? I hear one sound of falling from that bathroom I'm going in regardless."

– – – –

It took 45 minutes before Shawn would finally emerge from the bathroom. At twenty minutes Turner had knocked on the door to check Shawn was able to manage. Having been told – in no uncertain manner – that he was _just fine, _Turner sat back on the sofa, abashed.

After half an hour starvation (as Cory attested) had prompted two telephone calls. One to Turner's local pizza house to order their delivery, one to Feeney to let him know they had Shawn safe. Turner knew he should have done that earlier but with all the high drama, it had slipped his mind.

The take-away was delivered just before Shawn finished in the bathroom. Two pizzas, fries, corn on the cob and – at Cory's insistence – mac 'n' cheese. Turner looked at him in disgust. "You're putting mac 'n' cheese on top of a slice of pepperoni pizza? Seriously Matthews?"

Cory grinned. "Try it, its awesome. Seriously Mister Turner."

Alan paused guiltily as he loaded his own slice of pizza with a spoonful. "Yeah, blame Eric for what has now become a Matthews family tradition."

Turner pulled a face, then turned as finally the bathroom door opened, a black bag sailing through. This was followed by Shawn, both defiant and embarrassed, his nostrils twitching at the scent of fried food. Turner wasn't surprised to see that in addition to the clothes left out, Shawn had engulfed himself in the black bathrobe again. He made room on the sofa and called Shawn over. "Come over and get some food kid, before you start literally drooling or Cory eats it all."

To Shawn it still felt strangely surreal, to be clean, indoors and with the offer of hot food. After the nightmare week he'd had, this seemed too good to be true and part of him as ever was waiting for the world to come back and kick him into reality again. He hobbled across the room and sat on the rug, giving Turner a self conscious look. "I smell like the Chemistry lab."

"Better than you were." Turner replied. "Um.. the shampoo and stuff… did you…?" He trailed off awkwardly.

"Yeah, yeah. I've nuked the bugs, spent an age combing everything out." Shawn said with anger. "You're not gonna catch anything off me. Can we change the subject from my lice or would you prefer it if I sat on the fire escape?"

"Whoa, easy there Shawn." Alan wiped his mouth and went over to the kitchen to pick up Turner's box of bandages. "All my kids have had head lice at some time or other. It isn't anything to be embarrassed about. How is the ankle holding up?" He gazed down at the upturned face. Cleaned of grime it was now pallid with exhaustion shaded eye sockets. "Guess it kinda sucks huh?" He crouched in front of Shawn and gently took his leg, feeling the boy tense. "Don't worry, I've had some experience with putting bandages on sprains. This might be a bit uncomfortable but it should help give you a bit of support."

Turner watched as Alan deftly wrapped Shawn's ankle. "And if it is still giving you pain, you can take a painkiller _once_ you have food inside you." As Shawn began to gobble down a slice of pizza with a handful of fries Turner grabbed his arm gently. "Slow down bud. There is plenty of food for us all and you wolf that down too fast, you're gonna just end up puking."

Shawn grunted a reply but did slow down to actually chew his food. Had pizza always tasted this good?

"Okay, don't let Cory eat all the Mac. I'm going to take that bag down to the garbage bins." Alan swapped a look with Turner as he picked up the bag full of the filthy clothes. Both men knew there was a lot more that had to be addressed beyond Cory's simplistic idea to get Shawn here and safe, but how best to raise the topic of Shawn's father, or the police investigation, with a hurting teenager who was on the edge of his limits of endurance?

"Oh Dad." Cory called out, swallowing hastily. "Can you grab the box from the passenger seat please? I need it." He grinned. "Its a surprise."

– – – –

Shawn pushed his plate aside on the coffee table and leaned back on this arms, eyes closed. He'd hardly eaten that much but he felt too stuffed to fit another mouthful in, despite the fact that Cory was still motoring through pizza and fries with pleasure. He heard Turner speak and opened his eyes.

"Hey Shawn, you still with us?" Turner looked at the red rimmed eyes and nodded to himself. "You want to doze off, you can lean in up here on the sofa."

Shawn shook his head. "Fine." he mumbled around a yawn.

"Don't fall asleep yet Shawnie." Cory bounded to the door as Alan returned and relieved his father of the long box he was carrying. "Got a surprise for you first." He grinned widely as he crouched in front of his best friend and placed the box on Shawn's lap. "I got it for you. Open it."

Alan shrugged across the room at Turner. "I've no idea, Cory got it during the week and wouldn't say what it was."

Shawn looked down at the box. Not gift-wrapped, just a long, brown box. He looked up at Cory. "For me?" he queried.

"Yes, 'cos your my best friend and I wanted to get something for you." Cory bounced back to the sofa. "Open it my Shawnie, I wanna see your face light up like a happy person."

"Cor..." Shawn gave a half laugh, shaking his head as he ripped the sellotape from the top of the box. He opened the flaps and pushed the shredded newspaper aside before lifting the object out. The box, unheeded, fell to his side. Shawn could only stare, transfixed at what he held.

"I had some of Grandma Boo-boo's birthday money left over," Cory babbled happily. "And I knew you said you'd broken yours, but once your ankle is better you'll have you're freedom back now." He suddenly realized something was amiss. "Shawn? I don't see you looking like a happy person?"

It was a skateboard. Shawn could feel the roughness of the griptape under his thumbs, the smooth wood of the deck on his fingers. It was a skateboard. He closed his eyes and saw the image of his nightmares before him. His father, his face smeared with blood, and a broken skateboard protruding from his head. Shawn didn't know how his father had been killed by Eddie, but the knowledge his broken skateboard had something to do with it was enough. It made him feel as though he was partially responsible for his father's death too. The skateboard fell from his grasp and wheeled slowly across the floor. Shawn peddled backwards on his good leg, scooting on his backside across the floor until his back hit the kitchen counter.

Shawn couldn't stand to look at the images inside his mind any longer and opened his eyes, staring at Turner with anguish. "Jon!" he cried out softly, "Jon!"

He didn't have to say anything more. Turner was across the room in seconds and crouching beside him, knowing why there had been such a look of horror on Shawn's face. "Cory didn't know." he said gently. "He didn't know Shawn."

Shawn didn't hear him. His hands moved agitatedly in his hair, feeling the slight raised line of the scar on the back of his head. A skateboard had hurt him, had killed his father. He couldn't look at it, nor did he dare close his eyes. Instead he pressed his hands to his face, moaning faintly as Turner tried in vain to pull them away. His dad had been killed by this.

Cory looked from Shawn to his own dad, mouth open in an 'O' of totally shocked surprise. "What didn't I know? Dad? What have I done?"

Alan sighed. If he had been wondering how they would go about the delicate business of raising Shawn's father with him, Cory had blundered through and released that particular elephant in the room very effectively. "Shawn," he called over, "we never told Cory. He honestly didn't know how Chet had been… he didn't know the details of your dad's death. I'm so sorry Shawn." Alan put a hand on Cory's shoulder to reassure him. "You didn't know," he said quietly, "because your Mom and I thought it was better to spare the details. I didn't know you had this planned however otherwise I would have said something. But according to what the police said to Turner and George, Shawn's skateboard was used in murdering his Chet."

Cory's jaw fell open further, beyond shock now and into dismayed horror. "Oh hell… I didn't… I am so sorry Shawn." He looked across to where Shawn sat, Turner still trying without success to get him to come out from the wall he had made with his hands. "No." Cory said with sudden determination, his face set in its familiar lines of earnest intent. "This is wrong."

He scooted across the room, grabbing the skateboard from where it had rolled up against the wall, then knelt over Shawn's legs, holding the skateboard in front of him. "Shawn. Look at me." Cory glared at Turner until he moved back. "Shawn. Do you think I'd do anything, _anything_, that I thought would hurt you? Well, do you?"

He was rewarded by the tiniest shake of Shawn's head. "So, look at me Shawn. Look at this." Cory pushed the skateboard against Shawn's chest, forcing his friend to finally, reluctantly, pull his hands away from his eyes. "This is just a skateboard Shawnie." he said softly. "That is all it is."

He dropped the board onto Shawn's lap, wheels uppermost, and placed his hands on Shawn's shoulders, shaking him slightly. "Look at me." He waited until the wet-shined blue eyes met his. "Its a skateboard Shawnie, its brand new and has never been used by anyone, for anything. Its not a weapon. Its never been anything other than just a skateboard. This hasn't hurt anyone. Its your board, and you will use it and put good memories into it. Its clean. Look at it, just look at it. There isn't anything bad here."

Shawn grappled with his confused thoughts, staring at Cory. He knew his friend was right, that there was a difference. Not everything had to be bad. He allowed himself to look down at the gift, running his fingers over the polished wood, spinning the wheels. He gave a hesitant smile. "Its a good board Cory. Thank you. Really. You're right. I'll make it my own, and it won't have anything to do with -" Shawn broke off, he still couldn't bring himself to say the words aloud, to allow himself to speak of that which was unspeakable.

Cory moved to sit beside Shawn. "There's also a pack of marker pens in the box, so when you feel up for it, you can decorate it to really make it yours, and yours alone."

Turner didn't know how Cory did it, but was thankful that where he had been unable to reach Shawn, Cory had once again shown his friend the way back. He knew in the days and weeks that followed Shawn was going to need friends like Cory more than ever.

Shawn spun the wheels again, the familiar sound weirdly comforting. "Cor…" he said finally smiling fully. "Its a great gift, but why? What did I do to deserve this? New decks aren't cheap."

Cory slung an arm around Shawn's shoulders, suddenly serious. "Because I wanted you to come home Shawn. And I missed you. It felt like you'd been away from me a month, not a week. So its partly a welcome back present. And partly..." Cory hesitated, than as ever, ploughed ahead anyway. "And partly because when my Grampa Poppy died, I remember getting presents, so I wouldn't be so sad. I know that is nothing like losing your Dad, but I wanted to get you something that would be there to cheer you up later."

Alan and Turner swapped another look. So, there it was, with typical Cory candor, the issue of Shawn's Dad.

For a long moment Shawn just stared downwards, fingers spinning wheels ever faster. If he stared at the wheels hard enough, the world would go away for a bit. The voices offering their apologetic commiserations at his loss, they would fade. He didn't want to think about this, he didn't want to talk about this. For the past week he had tried not to, except when he was asleep and couldn't guard himself.

This was his pain, his secret. That he had hated his father for leaving him without word for weeks. That if he'd been stronger and stood up to Eddie, his Dad would be alive. That it was his board that Eddie had used. All this and more made a dark creature of guilt inside Shawn that was consuming him.

But he was a Hunter, and Hunters don't cry. At least, not in front of anyone else.

Fingers viciously spun the wheels faster and faster until Shawn could feel his mind fill with the tranquilizing white noise. He didn't want to deal with this.

Turner could see exactly what Shawn was doing. It was a recently acquired tic, but one Turner had noticed Shawn do more and more often. That sudden intent focus on something insignificant and using it to almost hypnotic effect so he could withdraw entirely into himself. He reached across to Shawn and stopped the boy's hands, taking them in his own. "Shawn, you don't have to talk about it if you're not ready to, but don't shut everyone out. I can't begin to imagine how much you're hurting but I'm here for you, whether you want to talk, or have a hug, or just scream at me. But you've can't hold this all in yourself, you can't retreat into your own head and think you can deal with this by yourself and tell me you're fine." Turner paused as Shawn's head raised, staring up at him with that familiar pouting anger and resistance. "Please Shawn."

"I never said I was fine." Shawn almost growled, pulling his hands away from Turner's. He pushed the board off his lap and struggled to his feet. "But I don't want to talk about this. I don't want to even have to _think_ about this. Except I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop. Every time -" He broke off, choking back what he had been about to say and let out an inarticulate, frustrated groan. His hands frantically knotted at the sleeves of the bathrobe and he closed his eyes. "I can't do this."

"No Shawn. _This_ is what you can't do. You don't get to turn your back on us again."

Shawn felt cornered. Every part of him just wanted to do his usual disappearing act so he could avoid having to deal with this. But he couldn't, he was trapped between a bum ankle and Cory. "Great. So I get a Cory lecture too now?"

"No Shawnie, you get this." Cory unexpectedly wrapped his arms around Shawn, uncaring that his friend stood awkwardly unresponsive, hands hanging by his sides limply. He spoke quietly but firmly into his friend's ear. "This is a hug. This is what people who care give to the people they care about when they can see they are hurting. Okay, do you get this? This is what we do. We don't leave."

Shawn raised his head. "Leaving is all I've known anyone to do! Dad left. Like always, took off." He pushed himself back from Cory, his eyes flaring. "I was sooo mad at him. Typical, just going off without a word. Then I find out he's dead. And I shouldn't be mad at him, but I still am! I'm still so angry at him!" He threw his arms in the air. "And yet I love him. But I don't know how to deal with that Cory. I was hating him for abandoning me and now he's gone forever and I -" Shawn stopped, panting slightly. Everything had come out in such a rush he had forgotten at some point to breathe. He pushed his hands into his hair and stared at Cory, trembling. "I never got to tell him. I never got to even say goodbye."

As Cory spontaneously embraced Shawn again, this time he didn't pull away and allowed himself to be hugged. He rested his forehead on Cory's shoulder. "Why?" he queried, sounding lost. "Why did this happen?"

Cory stepped back, shrugging helplessly. "I dunno Shawn." he said sadly, "I really don't know."

"Hey boys. Come and sit down." Alan moved up the sofa as Cory sat down, waiting as Shawn was helped to limp over, leaning on Turner's arm. "Shawn, you can torture yourself every day with questions like that, to no avail. Some people would say it is God's will, and part of a larger plan." He ignored Shawn's derisive snort. "Some people would say it is fate, or luck, or karma. But what it all boils down to is that we can't really know why bad things happen. Anymore than we can know why good things unexpectedly happen too. All we can do is accept in life there are bad things that are going to happen, and hope to have the courage and the support of our friends to get over these."

"And that is us Shawn." Cory said, putting his arm around Shawn's shoulders. "I'll always be here for you."

"And that goes double for me kid." Turner said, perching on the end of the sofa. "No matter what. You've gotta learn to believe that."

Shawn rested his head on one hand, rubbing his forehead as he thought. He knew that Alan, Cory and Turner were right. He wasn't good at doing alone and he had never felt more alone than the past week. But his mind felt like a faulty pinball machine, lighting up dark thoughts randomly. There was so much he couldn't put into words.

One thought did emerge from his inner chaos with more clarity however. Shawn hesitantly spoke, not liking how the words sounded coming from him. Not thinking he would ever have to say them. "What about… things that have to be done… What about..." He trailed off before starting again. "Dad's funeral. What do I do about that? I don't know… I don't want..." Again he stopped with a stifled choking sound.

Alan put his arm around Shawn's shoulders also, giving him a light squeeze. "Son, we'll speak to the police about when they can release… about when we can go ahead with funeral preparations, and we will work something out. You don't need to worry about that right now."

"The family liaison officer is trying to track down some more of Chet's relatives at present." Turner added. "Between all of us, we can work that out when the time comes."

_More relatives? Why did they have to find more of the Hunter family, the ones he knew about weren't exactly model citizens. They wouldn't give a crap to helping out. If some official was trying to track down more of his family, what good would that do? If his own Mom didn't want to be found? She wouldn't even know that dad was dead, as she'd given up writing to him months ago. _

Another dark thought bubble rose and Shawn lifted his head, his voice biting. "Oh right. Is that what it is. Work out who gets lumbered with Shawn? Can't find any member of the Hunter clan that wants to take me in? I'm not surprised. I wouldn't take me in, the stupid stuff I do. What happens to me now?" he queried bitterly. "I get to be pushed from one foster home to another whenever someone else decides they've had enough of me being a screw-up?" He made to rise, but was held back by Alan and Cory's arms still around his shoulders and subsided into a belligerent pout.

"Shawn, did you not hear anything we said a moment ago?" Alan said gently. He couldn't blame Shawn for not being entirely rational when his emotions were on a roller-coaster of confusion, loss and fear. Alan looked across at Turner at nodded. The boy had been through so much in one evening but perhaps it was time to give him something definite and positive to hang onto.

Turner knew the silent message Alan was sending him and moved across the room to his small desk. Moving aside some piles of homework awaiting marking he picked up an A4 manilla envelope and returned to the sofa, crouching in front of Shawn.

He turned the envelope over in his hands, making sure he had Shawn's attention. "I wasn't sure when to tell you. I guess the time is now. So, here -" he held out the envelope.

Shawn looked across at him, wary. His hand reached out and lightly touched the edge of the envelope but did not take it. Instead his eyes looked in question at Turner.

"Its okay Shawn. Take it."

Turner watched, breath held as Shawn wriggled forwards and took the envelope from him. So much hung on how he'd react to what was inside. Turner could only hope he had done the right thing.

For a long moment there was no sound, Shawn just staring at the envelope he turned over in his hands, suddenly nervous. He turned his head slightly to look at Cory, as ever seeking reassurance from his friend. At Cory's smiling nod he tore open the flap and slid out the sheet of thick paper.

Expensive paper, official paper. Shawn made a small inward gasp as he read the words, disbelieving. He read again, slower, but the words blurred before his eyes.

It was Turner who broke the silence, unable to fathom out what Shawn was thinking as he looked downwards at the paper, small and very quiet. "Shawn? You understand what this means don't you? I am now your legal guardian, and all that entails... if that is what you want."

"You kept this," Shawn replied, his voice low, deliberate. "All this time. You didn't get it signed when dad first sent you the papers, but you kept it. Why? Why did you keep it?"

Turner almost shrugged but stopped himself. He had everything to lose if he said the wrong thing now, and honesty was his only path. "After you moved out there has not been a day goes by when I haven't wished that I had signed it back then. I kept it, yes. I never wanted to sign it under such circumstances, but I kept it because I have regretted so much _not_ signing it." Turner tried to gauge what Shawn was thinking, but the boy remained looking down, silent and unusually still, even his hands unmoving. "I wanted you to be here. I wanted you to live here and make this your home."

The realization that someone had truly wanted him despite all his faults finally sunk into Shawn. Turner had kept the legal document all this time. It wasn't a joke, he wasn't going to be kicked from place to place like a stray dog. The small, still disbelieving part of him spoke up. "You won't replace my dad. You know that."

"I would never, _never_, try to replace your father Shawn. All I ask for is that you let me be as much of a parent as I can be as your legal guardian. All I ask is that you let me try."

Turner cared. Turner _cared. _Shawn felt lightheaded with the sudden knowledge. The world may come back and kick him into place but he had a home, he had somewhere to belong to for once. He was safe, he was _wanted_.

As Shawn looked up Turner could understand why the boy had been acting so oddly. _Hunters don't cry_. But it was obvious Shawn had been struggling to hold his emotions inside for the past few minutes. The wide-eyed look of relief and an apprehensive hope was magnified by the tears that brimmed but were denied outlet.

He moved forward and pulled Shawn towards him in a firm embrace, for once not pushed away. Shawn pressed his face into the cloth of Turner's check shirt and wrapped his arms around him fiercely. He wasn't even aware of the stealthy tears that dampened the cloth, he clung to Turner as the only life line he had.

"_Thank you Jon." _Barely a whisper but Turner heard.

"You're home Shawn. Whatever happens, you're home now."


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: Disney would never allow it. But I don't care. Sorry about the delay, laptop on its last legs and decided to erase chapter 14, so had to re-write. Apologies that haven't had time to proof read but as my proof reading is rubbish it probably doesn't matter. And thanks as always for the messages, followers, reviewers (cheers to all the new guests) and many thanks as ever for continuing to read. Hopefully no tech issues to stop chapter 15 getting done!**

Chapter Fourteen

Shawn relinquished his hold on Turner after a few moments, suddenly uncomfortable. Happier than he had been certainly, but still embarrassed. Not wanting to speak to anyone just then Shawn pulled the hood of the bathrobe up and sat back down on the floor, leaning with one arm on the coffee table. For a minute he stared at the precious paper he held then, almost gently, set it on the floor beside him, smoothing it out.

Turner recognized the withdrawal as Shawn's need for space, for privacy, not as a slight against himself. He pushed himself to his feet, a hint of a smile on his face as he saw the care Shawn took with the guardianship paper. If the kid needed time to have an inward dialogue to come to terms with this, that was fair enough. It was hard to read what Shawn was thinking when every part of him – aside the bandaged leg sticking out – was huddled deep inside the bathrobe. Turner's smile widened. It didn't matter if he couldn't see Shawn's face, hidden in its toweling recess, what mattered was he could see Shawn's hands. They were usually a good indicator as to Shawn's mood. And now one toyed aimlessly with the left over fries, the other was placed protectively on the paper. There was no frantic knotting, no agitation… for possibly the first time that evening Turner thought Shawn actually seemed calm. He hoped it wasn't just an eye of the storm moment.

Alan broke his contemplation with a cough. "How about a coffee Jonathan?" he asked getting up. "And Cory, see if you can find a film we can all agree to watch before it gets too late huh?" He didn't always understand Shawn's moods, but he sure knew embarrassed teenager when he saw it, and knew what Shawn needed was for everyone to get out of his vicinity briefly.

Turner showed Cory where his videos were stacked in the cupboard and left him to rummage, joining Alan in the kitchen area. He pulled a couple of mugs down and lent his back against the sink. "So," he asked quietly, "how do you think I'm dong so far at this?"

"You're doing just great." Alan clapped his shoulder lightly. "Trust me, that was a damn good thing you did there for Shawn." His smile faded. "But you're in this for a long haul and there are going to be some tough days against, for him, and for you."

"I know." Turner sighed. "I mean, it was hard before, but now? I've no experience in raising kids, let alone one who has lost everything. There are so many ways I could screw this up. I was a single guy, living the bachelor life. When Shawn moved in with me before we both knew it was a temporary arrangement until Chet came home. Only this time its not temporary, and Chet will never come home. Alan… I don't regret for a moment signing that paper, but I do worry I'm not up for this. What if I -"

Alan stopped him short. "I've raised three kids and I still go through each day wondering what I could have done better or differently. I still go to bed asking myself what if questions. I know there have been plenty of times I've done or said something I wish later I could take back or re-do again." He grinned. "Face it Jonathan. There isn't an instruction book and accept sometimes you will mess up. And hope that you can do what you have to do to put it right. But you are what Shawn needs now, and you are good with him. You _get_ him. I see you watching him, picking up on things that tell you more than they would tell me."

"I hope so." Turner spooned coffee into two mugs. "I don't want to be the one who lets Shawn down, for once I want him to have a normal life."

Shawn ignored the low rumble of their voices even though he knew they were talking about him. He could block out Cory's grumbling from behind him too. It was distant, unimportant. What mattered was the paper under his hand, and that was all. Well, that and the fact Turner had kept the paper when he didn't have to but because he had still wanted Shawn to be here, part of his life.

He stared blankly at the muted television screen, musing on this new fact. Shawn hardly dared allow himself to believe that something good had happened, that it was real. He was a house pet again. That would take some getting used to. He had become so accustomed to his independence it would be strange not having to worry about what was waiting for him at home, or whether there was food in the house, or if he would have to wash his clothes in the shower. Having to live with Turner's curfews again, doing homework… being _normal_.

Shawn closed his eyes, feeling guilty. His Dad was dead, what right did he have to try and feel happy, or normal? Did part of a person hang around after they had died? Would his Dad somehow know that he would be okay, that Turner was taking care of him? Or was he betraying his Dad by accepting this?

_Dad? I don't know what happens to people when they die, I don't have a belief in God or heaven like the Matthews do, and I guess that makes me a bad person. I don't know what I believe in but I guess I hope there is a part of you that can hear me, somehow. You've gotta know, I never wanted to have this conversation with you, I would trade anything, everything, just to have you walk in the door now. Just so I can tell you that I'm sorry for not standing up to Eddie, for not reporting him to the police when he smashed my skateboard over my head. Because if I had you would still be here. And I'm sorry for hating you and thinking you'd left me again. I don't hate you Dad, not really. You'll always be my Dad, I'll always be a Hunter. This thing with Turner ain't gonna change that. I just wish you were still with me._

Shawn opened his eyes and stared at the muted television screen for a moment. It wasn't possible. But it was there. If it was some kind of sign Shawn didn't know what it meant, but there was his Dad's photograph, possibly taken from a police mug shot, staring at him with its familiar and cocky lopsided grin, taking up half of the screen beside the newsreader.

He jerked backwards involuntarily, sending takeaway cartons to the floor. _ Where was the damn remote?!_ Shawn scrabbled on the coffee table almost blindly until his hand found the remote control, unaware of the pained, inarticulate noise he made as the sound suddenly came on.

"_\- regarding the ongoing murder investigation according to the police statement earlier today. We will now go to Jerry Ramsey at the scene where Chet Hunter's vehicle was recovered. Jerry, have the police __given any further information regarding how the truck came to be at this yard?"_

Turner, Alan and Cory turned in shock almost as one at the sudden blast of sound from the television. There was a clatter as Cory dropped the video case he was holding, unheeded by everyone. All three stood frozen, aghast and at a loss. "Shawn, you don't need -" Turner began.

Shawn didn't tear his eyes from the television screen, mesmerized with the awful realism. But he held up his hand, silencing whatever Turner had been about to say. He didn't want to see this, but he needed to see this. It was fact, it was his Dad's truck. It was… everything. It was the first time it had ever seemed so real.

The news reporter continued to speak, smooth, bland, unaffected by the news he was bound to tell.

"_Earlier today this police issued a statement that confirmed they had recovered Chet Hunter's truck, and that at this time they had arrested no suspects in this case. There has been a large police presence here for several hours as the truck is impounded for further investigation and they have indicated that the yard's owner is in no way implicated in the murder. Back to you in the studio Carol."_

The scene shifted back to the brunette in the studio, her face in the center of the screen now framed by enlarged head shots of both Eddie and Shawn.

He couldn't help the involuntarily gasp, it was unnerving seeing his face on television. The photograph was at least a year old, taken from a school year book. Shawn barely knew the visage as his own, so different he felt now to the person he had been then. Eddie's picture was from his most recent arrest. _Another Hunter mug shot… at least I'm the one Hunter who didn't have a police photo. _Shawn shivered. Even through the television screen the cold blue eyes of his half brother seemed to stare through him with sardonic cruelty.

"_So far police have been unable to locate the whereabouts of either of Chet Hunter's sons, Eddie and Shawn. They are increasingly concerned for the well-being of Shawn Hunter who has been missing for a we__ek and in an earlier statement urged him to get in contact. Although there has been no official confirmation that Eddie Hunter is the main suspect they are searching for, there has not been any other person of interest named so far. There will be more on this case in our later bulletin but in other local news -"_

Turner finally found the will to move and cut the television off at the wall, turning to face Shawn. _Oh kid. _The blue eyes swam with exhausted confusion, the pale face a still, blank oval. Turner reached out and took the remote control from the unresisting hand.

It broke Shawn's stunned reverie. He blinked slowly, some animation coming back to his features. "I was thinking of Dad… and then he was there, on the T.V..." Shawn said slowly, his voice dulled with shock. "It was real. It was on the news." He shook his head, gradually getting to his feet, unmindful of Turner's worried stare.

He hobbled around the sofa, looking across at Cory in a mute plea for reassurance. It was so far from anything Cory had any experience of for a moment he was at a loss as to what to say. "I'm sorry Shawnie," he said softly, "really sorry. Nothing I can say is ever going to make this better. You've been on the local news all week and I still get weirded out seeing your face on the screen."

Alan gave Cory a comforting squeeze on the shoulder. "But you do know Shawn, that the police aren't looking for you as a suspect any longer. They just want to know you're safe."

Shawn lowered his head, trying to find some clarity to his thoughts. He gestured angrily at the television, and then looked up at Turner, unable to focus his rage elsewhere. "So why haven't they arrested Eddie then?" he demanded furiously. "Why? What the hell have the police been doing if they have left Eddie alone? I know he killed my father, I know he's guilty. So why hasn't he been arrested?" He stopped, suddenly afraid again. The blaze in his eyes died. "Where is Eddie?"

"No one really knows. Or if they do know they aren't telling the police." Turner walked over to Shawn, wanting to offer some comfort to the boy but aware any touch just now would be rebuffed out of anger. "Apparently Eddie left the area a few days after you disappeared on us, as soon as it became obvious his alibi wasn't going to hold up under any kind of pressure. The police will arrest him… but he is lying low somewhere and when a Hunter doesn't want to be found -"

"He won't be found." Shawn finished quietly. It was little comfort knowing Eddie was still at large somewhere. Still able to come back and make his life hell again. He bowed his head again, sighing inwardly. He had been a coward all along, ever since Eddie had come back into their lives. His cowardice had gotten his Dad murdered. Well, maybe it was time to stop being scared, stop being a coward.

He raised his head, his eyes bleak and resigned. "I know what I have to do. I know now." His voice was a whisper, more to himself than to the others in the room. "I've got to finally tell the truth, for once."

Turner swapped a confused look across the lounge with Alan. "What do you mean Shawn?"

"You asked me to promise you to tell you the truth about important stuff." Shawn said slowly. "But even as I made that promise I knew I was breaking it. I knew I was gonna lie. I just didn't know how bad the consequences of not being honest would be." He gave a quick apologetic glance towards Alan and Cory. "I lied to all of you. I was scared. But being scared got Dad killed. So now I have got to tell it all. To the police."

"What could be so bad Shawn, what could you have lied about that was so bad?"

Shawn shook his head at Turner. "No. Not tonight, please Jon." He looked pleadingly up. "Phone the police and tell them I am here, I'm safe and that I'll go in tomorrow to speak to them, to tell them everything. But not tonight please." He moved to slump back down onto the sofa. "I just want one night when things can just be… _normal_. When you won't hate me. Or look at me differently. Please don't ask me to tell you anything tonight. I can't. I just can't."

Turner nodded. "Okay Shawn. Okay. I'll call the police, and I will go with you tomorrow. You're not doing this alone. You're not going to be alone again in any of this. And trust me on this -" He grasped Shawn's shoulders and made the boy look him in the eye. "There is nothing – nothing – that you could have done that would ever make me hate you. So forget that idea."

"Yeah Shawnie." Cory and Alan moved across the room to retake their seats also. "You're my best friend, nothing changes that."

Shawn smiled faintly in gratitude as the conversation gradually went on around him on more normal topics. For now at least he could push it all away, bury it inside until tomorrow. His smile faded. There was no going back. Tomorrow everything would change again.


	15. Chapter 15

**Nearly one a.m, just finished typing furiously. No time for disclaimers, suck it up Disney! Apologies for a wee bit of swearing towards the end, but it was in keeping with the character. Bit of a 'phew glad that's over' chapter. Feel free to send me your comments (I can take critical advice, my brain may still go off on its own odd wanderings however). Thanks as always for following or reviewing (hello new reviews of guests, April May, gromit, Salia248) **

Chapter Fifteen

The stridency of the alarm clock dragged Turner reluctantly from his sleep. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. It felt as though he had barely slept three hours, having spent the night tossing and turning. The enormity of his decision to take Shawn in, to make the arrangement official, had finally sunk in.

Shawn had had little to say for the rest of the evening, falling into exhausted sleep on the corner of the sofa part way through the film. Even after Cory and Alan had left and Turner had forced him to wake up enough to walk through to the bedroom, Shawn had been a monosyllabic automaton. Turner hadn't found sleep so easily though. He had paced the room for a while, thinking. _I don't want to let you down._ The refrain ran through his head over and over, but he didn't know if he was able to keep to that. It would be hard enough raising a teenager in normal circumstances, but with Shawn… there was more, so much more difficulty. For a start, Turner's parents were both still together, elderly but alive. The times he had lost family and had grieved they had been grandparents, or barely remembered relatives. They hadn't been snatched from live brutally, murdered by their son. How did he begin to relate to how Shawn was feeling?

Turner padded through to the kitchen automatically flicking on the kettle and reaching for a mug. He checked his watch as he waited for the water to boil. Nine thirty. They had an hour until he was supposed to take Shawn down to the police station.

_God, what a day its gonna be. I can't imagine what Shawn has been keeping from me, from everyone… but if it involves Eddie it can't be anything good. How is it possible I thought I knew the kid, when he has a whole world of secrets I never knew anything about? Has he been involved in any of Eddie's criminal activities, is that why he was scared to go to the police? _

_But if that Detective starts on anything that has Shawn going into a tailspin… he'll not get another chance to open his mouth._

Turner poured milk into his coffee, enough to cool it to drinking temperature. It was going to take more than coffee to get him and Shawn through this day. He needed… Turner hesitated momentarily then picked up his phone, dialing the one person who was always the voice of reason. He sipped coffee as he listened to the ringing tone.

_\- You have reached George Feeney, good morning?_

"George… hi." Turner sagged against the kitchen counter. "Sorry for disturbing you but I just wanted… I don't know what I wanted. I guess I need some reassurance."

_\- Jonathon, you know you can call me anytime when it comes to the welfare of my students. Don't worry, you haven't got to fill me in from the beginning, I spoke to Alan Matthews earlier this morning, he told me about last night. It concerns me Jonathan, concerns me greatly as to what that boy has been up to, what we have missed._

"I know and I'm scared George. I'm scared I'm going to screw this up. And I'm worried about whatever Shawn has got to tell the police about." Turner sighed. "I don't know what I'm doing."

_\- Jonathan, remember this if nothing else. Shawn Hunter was sleeping on the streets, you managed to get him out of that situation. He had no one in his life to look out for him, you stepped up. You're doing something right. If he is still in your house and has not left during the night, you're doing better than the Matthews._

Turner felt comforted by Feeney's words but stiffened at the last sentence. He hadn't actually checked that Shawn was still in the apartment. The fire escape window was still ajar from the night before… how could he be so careless not to check?

"Thanks George, but I need to go. I've got to get Shawn to the police station and I don't think either of us are going to have have a relaxing start to the weekend."

Having promised Feeney that he would call him later to update him on the situation, Turner moved quickly to Shawn's bedroom, opening the door quietly. The room was still an amalgamation of storage boxes that Turner had been keeping there after Shawn first moved out, and space reclamation by Shawn. That would need sorting, Turner noted mentally. Shawn needed to know this was his room again, not a guest in a spare room.

He walked across the room softly, closing the window and switching off the table lamp with a slight grin. Shawn Hunter, the only person who found it easier to sleep with the noise from the streets and a light on all night. There was little to be seen of Shawn other than a hand curled into a wave of dark hair poking out from the duvet. "Shawn? Hey buddy, its time to get up." There was no response. Turner raised his voice. "Shawnie? C'mon kid, breakfast time."

Eliciting still no movement Turner hesitated, then shook the duvet roughly where he could guess Shawn's arm to be. That at least provoked a reaction.

"_Mmffff nngah'way." _The hand and tuft of hair disappeared with the angry mumble further under the duvet.

"Shawn, you know I'm not going to stop annoying you until you get up. C'mon, I know this isn't something you've been looking forward to but you need to get up."

The duvet was pushed back and a white, angry face glared up for a moment before Shawn raised himself to sit up. "Not looking forward to?" he said sarcastically. "All my life, it was you don't talk to the police, you don't go to the police. You sort matters out yourself, you keep it in the family. And now?" He huffed and lay back down. "Doing the right thing," he muttered, closing his eyes, "where does that ever get anyone?"

Turner wasn't fooled by the thin bravado for a moment. Oh kid, you're good at it, I'll give you that. And I would have been fooled before. But my eyes are more open than they were before and I know now that you're keeping your eyes shut because you can't bear me to see how scared you are. "C'mon." he repeated, gently. "Have a shower, I'll make you some breakfast."

One eye opened far enough for a slit of blue to regard Turner wearily. "I don't need a shower 'cos I only had one last night. And I don't want breakfast because I've already thrown up once this morning." Shawn rolled over in his bed and wrapped his hands over his face. "Don't worry I cleaned it up."

Turner stood dumbstruck for a moment. Here he was, congratulating himself on his ability to read Shawn's moods, yet he had managed to sleep through the kid being sick _and _cleaning up afterward. "Why didn't you wake me?"

The reply was muffled by hands and tiredness. "What was the point in waking you? I was sick, I cleaned up. Its what you do ain't it?"

_No kid! _Turner thought furiously, shocked. _That isn't what you do, not if you're a kid. You get sick, you turn to someone, you don't silently creep about doing it on your own. Unless you're Shawn. _

He sighed heavily. "I'll come get you in half an hour. But I'd be happier if you at least tried to eat something before we have to go. You're getting skinny kiddo.

Shawn pulled the duvet cover back over himself and grunted a reply. He just wanted to postpone having to face the day as long as possible. Half and hour wasn't much, but he'd take it.

– – – –

_Keys, check. Windows shut, check. Phone, check. _

Turner glanced at himself in the bedroom mirror. He had no idea what he was doing,, he had no idea what Shawn was going into, he had no idea what was going to happen next. All he knew was that whatever happened he wasn't going to let Shawn face it alone, he might not know anything but he was certain of one fact, never again would he let Shawn believe he had nobody he could turn to.

He opened the bedroom door to a cacophony of electric guitar noise and ear-pain. Or music in Shawn's world. Turner realized that if he was feeling anxious about the outcome of today, it had to be a thousand times worse for Shawn, watching the boy pace back and forth across the lounge, one hand keeping time with the drum beat on his leg nervously as he limped.

Despite Turner's attempts at conversation Shawn had remained inside his own thoughts. Still dressed in the same clothes from the night before, and somehow managing to get his boots on over his bandaged ankle without help. Citing to every inquiry the same answer until Turner had been too frustrated to ask again. _Fine. I'm fine._

Yeah, thought Turner. If fine is being unable to do more than eat half a round of toast without looking queasy. If fine is looking like a ghost, hobbling back and forth and back again. If fine is a constant gnawing on finger nails. If you're fine I'm the tooth fairy.

He turned the music off and faced Shawn in the sudden silence. "You ready to go kid?" He passed Shawn a crash helmet.

Shawn's eyes briefly met Turner's before flickering away, his hands restlessly turning his helmet over and over. "Yeah. I guess so."

Turner held open the door for him, stooping to pick up his own helmet. He was surprised when Shawn stopped in the doorway, looking up at him beseechingly. "Shawn?"

The blue eyes held him. Shawn chewed at a hanging piece of nail briefly. "Jon? I..." He turned his head away, shuddering. "Jon, I -" Shawn didn't have the words. He took Turner completely unawares as he suddenly threw himself into a hug.

"Hey kiddo..." Turner wrapped his arms around Shawn trying to instil some of his strength into the scrawny frame. "Whatever it is… we'll get through it."

Shawn's head was buried in the familiar smell of Turner's leather jacket, needing a moment of comfort. _Ah kid, I don't know what you need, but there hasn't been enough hugs in your world. _He gently caressed the dark hair resting against his chest, then paused, his fingers touching a raised mark on Shawn's scalp. "What on -"

He didn't get the opportunity to say anything further. The moment broken, Shawn pulled away and back into defensive mode. He gave Turner a familiar closed off, pouting look. "We need to go."

As Shaw turned and hobbled down the stairs, Turner shook his head. One brief connection, again severed by the slightest wrong move. And he still didn't know what made Shawn suddenly withdraw. Turner suppressed a shudder. He only hoped that whatever happened at the police station, it wouldn't be the catalyst for Shawn pulling further away from him, just when he needed him the most.

– – – –

Shawn squirmed in the hard plastic chair, horribly conscious of the stares he was receiving from the police on the front desk. In fact he had felt strangely exposed from the moment he had removed his helmet and dismounted Turner's bike. Everyone was looking at him, judging him. He kept his head down, trying to avoid eye contact and chewed unconsciously on his thumb nail. There wasn't much nail left to gnaw.

"You holding up okay Shawn?" Turner got the expected, if entirely untrue, short nod. The real answer was in the jiggling knee that was unable to stop its nervy beat. It was in the fingers that had been chewed down to the skin. It was in the anxiety that was radiating off Shawn. He reached over and gently took hold off Shawn's wrist, pulling his hand away from the relentless gnawing. "I'm here, talk to me. You're making your thumb bleed."

Shawn looked up his torn up thumb in a daze and pulled his hand away from Turner's grip. He wrapped his arms around himself, tucking a hand under each armpit to try and keep them still. "Its a police station Jon." he said sarcastically. "Its not on my top ten of places to spend a Saturday morning."

"No, I guess not." Turner ducked his head, trying to catch Shawn's avoiding eyes. "Don't blow me off Shawn. I'm here, I'm not leaving you. So, talk to me bud, it may make it easier."

The knee went into triple time before Shawn finally looked up, eyebrows pulled into a plaintive frown. "Its everyone!" he hissed, his dismay apparent. "They won't stop staring at me. They're all looking at me thinking, that's the kid that killed his father." The hands snuck out and knotted themselves in Shawn's hair. "Everyone knows I'm the kid off T.V, the freakin' screw-up."

The last time Turner had picked Shawn up from a police station there had been an attitude of humorous resignation with a cocky bravado. Not without fear but nothing akin to the desperate near panic he sensed now. He put an arm around Shawn's shoulders, ignoring the boy's stiffening. "No one is judging you Shawn. You're judging yourself. And you've done nothing wrong."

Shawn looked up as a door opened across the far side of the reception area. He vaguely recognized Emma Sanders as the A.A.S officer from Feeney's office. "Oh haven't I?" he said softly. "It doesn't feel that way."

Emma walked over to the pair, her heels suddenly loud on the tiled floor. She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and smiled warmly. "Shawn, you have no idea how good it is to see you again. We have all been very concerned for you." She held a hand out to Turner. "Mr Turner, thank you for contacting us. I promise we will make this as easy as possible for Shawn. I can only apologize profusely -"

Turner shook her hand but cut her off. "Look, I'm here for Shawn. And I am warning you, if anything, _anything_, happens like our last encounter, I'm taking him home and filing an official complaint."

Emma pulled her hand away, nodding slightly. "Well." She recovered herself. "If you would both follow me Detective Farrell has an interview room set up. Not that you're being formally interviewed Shawn," she tried to reassure. "You're not a suspect. Please believe me on that."

Turner got to his feet and held out a hand to help Shawn up. A slender hand gripped Turner's with the desperate need to have an anchor, to have some support. Turner squeezed the hand back. "Together Shawnie." he said softly. "We do this together."

Shawn rose and let out a huge sigh, and gave Turner a brief hopeless look. "Okay." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Okay. Together."

He didn't care what it looked like as he crossed the room, clinging to Turner's hand. As the door closed behind him he only knew that without it he would have never made the first step.

– – – –

It was just a room, Shawn told himself. Just a small windowless room, no different really to a thousand other rooms. It was just four walls, painted a dismal gray-green. It was just a room with a table in the middle and two plastic chairs on either side. Just a room with four people in it, sitting in pairs either side of a table.

He shuddered. Except it wasn't just a room. There was the hulking black tape recorder on the table for a start. And one of the people facing him was the scorning, hard-faced detective, Farrell. Not so scornful or harsh now, more regarding Shawn with a strange curiosity, tapping a Biro against the yellow lined pad in front him.

Shawn was vaguely aware of the A.A.S officer, Sanders, speaking, but his gaze continued to jitter around the room, not taking in anything she was saying. He hand felt slippery inside Turner's and he finally pulled his hand free as it registered she was repeating his name. "Huh?"

Emma indicated the tape recorder. "I was saying we will be taping our interview Shawn, but it is standard procedure with minors. Its not something you should be worried about. Detective Farrell will give the time, date and the names of everyone in the room, then you can give your statement."

"My statement." Shawn said flatly.

"Anything that can assist us Shawn." Farrell added, still eying Shawn with interest. "You're the next best thing to a witness. Anything you can tell us about Eddie Hunter. It might seem insignificant to you, but it could help us immensely."

"Insignificant?" Shawn surprised the three adults with a bark of bitter laughter. He closed his eyes, biting his lip momentarily. "Turn the tape on then." he said dully. "Turn it on and let me get this over -" He looked up, his gaze caught by an object across the room. "Wait."

"Shawn?"

He waved Turner quiet, the turmoil of his thoughts suddenly clear. There was only one way to do this. He suddenly knew exactly what he had to do, to say. Shawn felt sick to the pit of his stomach and swallowed quickly. _Oh Christ. I really have to do this._

"That video recorder, that got tape in?" He pointed across the room, smiling grimly as Farrell nodded. "Switch that on too then." He anticipated the questions. "I've got to do this my way, or it won't happen. Switch the video on. And Jon?" Shawn gave an apologetic look. "You've got to sit their side of the table."

Turner shook his head. "No, Shawn, I said -"

"Sorry but you gotta. Otherwise I can't do this. Please?"

Against his better judgment Turner dragged his chair to the other side of the table, waiting as Emma and Farrell moved their chairs along to make room for him. "Shawn, you -"

Again Shawn cut him short, the blue eyes burning with a sudden fearful determination. "No. We do this _my _way. Tape it, video it. Make what notes you wanna Detective. But once I start you all gotta promise me, no questions, no interruptions. Especially you Jon. Sorry. But if you don't let me tell this my way I ain't gonna be able to tell it at all. You want to know about Eddie, that is the deal. Okay?" He waited until he had all three adults assent, then stared hard at Turner. "Promise me Jon." Shawn said quietly. "Promise me you won't say anything until its over."

Turner frowned in absolute confusion. "Shawn, I don't understand."

"You will. Now _promise_."

"Yes Shawn." Turner shrugged. "I promise."

Satisfied, Shawn waited as Emma set up the video tape and Farrell turned on the tape machine, giving his official spiel. Time. Date. Persons here present. Hearing his name spoken into the tape machine Shawn felt suddenly chilled. _I really have to do this._

"Shawn? You can give your statement whenever you're ready to begin." Farrell watched the boy, intrigued. He didn't think the kid had any direct involvement with Chet Hunter's murder, but he sensed something more to the broken triangle that was Shawn, Eddie and Chet… he just wasn't sure what.

Shawn clenched his hands to stop them trembling, staring down at the floor for a long moment. Scuffed by countless feet, alternate black and white tiles that were now dreary dark gray and light gray. Someone an age ago had stamped their gum into the floor, making a hardened blue-gray puddle. There was a gouged line across one tile, made by a high heel perhaps. A single small moth wing lay in the groove. It was a dead, alien landscape up close. Shawn breathed out, no longer trembling.

Emma was about to speak as the seconds ticked by, the red light on the tape machine winking steadily. Turner's hand on her hand stilled anything she was about to say. Seeing Shawn look up she finally understood.

With an eerie calmness Shawn stared across the table without really focusing on anyone. "This isn't so much a statement." he said flatly. "Think of it more as a show and tell."

– – – –

_Where to begin? _

Shawn kept his gaze on the video camera, unnerving Turner with the vacancy in his stare. He knew the boy was deliberately distancing himself from them, knew it was probably the only way of coping Shawn had. That didn't make it easier to sit and watch him though.

_Where to begin?_

Shawn took a deep breath and finally found his voice. It was without emotion, trying to remain detached from the actual content.

"I never had much to do with Eddie, not when I was a kid. We all knew that he was a thief, a criminal and a drug dealer. We all knew he was leader of his gang because he was violent, and punished hard. I avoided him, easily enough. Until Cory filmed him with the stolen laptops. And I gave the video to the police. I was under his spot light from then on. Except he was in prison, and I stupidly thought he would be there longer."

_I thought he would never keep his temper in check in jail, that he had to get into trouble and have his sentence extended. Eddie was locked away, and I stupidly thought he'd never return._

Shawn eased back in his seat, his eyes fixing on a small fly that fruitlessly banged around the strip light above the table. "But he had to get released some time, and he came to stay with us, with Dad and me at the trailer park. Dunno if he had no where else to go, or if he wanted to get his own back on me, or both. Didn't matter 'cos soon as Eddie moved in..." Shawn trailed off, closing his eyes briefly before going back to watching the hapless circling fly. "Even from the first night he was there, I got hit. Happens. Welcome to the Pink Flamingo. But hitting is one thing. You can learn to avoid getting hit, you know when to get out of the way. Eddie though… Eddie weren't satisfied with getting a hit in if I got in his way. He hated me. I mean really hated me. Deeply."

_How do you explain a nightmare you never woke up from? How do you explain a monster in words? _Shawn felt his throat close, not daring to look at the three adults sitting across from him, especially not Turner. He knew if he saw Turner's face now he wouldn't be able to finish. His throat clicked as he swallowed dryly.

"My skateboard." he continued softly. "That was where it began, and how it ended. I don't know where the other half of it is, I didn't know Eddie had even kept it after..." Shawn closed his eyes, dropping his head. His voice was even quieter as he continued. "It was dark 'cos we had no electricity. And I knocked Eddie's helmet on the floor, broke the visor. I couldn't stop thinking about it all day but I went to Cory's and forgot the time. I didn't get home before Eddie. He was waiting for me."

Shawn paused, then said blandly, "It wasn't a fight, it was a beating. He smashed the side of my head against the counter and threw me across the room. My skateboard was leaning against the wall. I broke something of his, he beat me with my board. I don't know how long for. Probably not that long. Just seemed long. It all ended when he whacked me over the back of the head with it. I heard it break before I passed out. Didn't think to look for it when I surfaced. Everything hurt too much. I was off school 'cos I was bruised up. Cory told everyone I had flu. He didn't know, he was just covering for me as usual."

There was a sharp intake of breath from Turner and he said incredulously, "The migraine, the day I had to take you home… that was the cause?"

Briefly Shawn opened his eyes and nodded before closing them again, ignoring the interruption. His hands moved to his head unthinkingly. "I have a scar here. I guess I was lucky. Or Dad was unlucky. I still can't work that out. Eddie stopped my beating. But he stashed the broken board somewhere after I passed out I guess. Why, I dunno. But he did. He could have killed me but it would have ruined weeks of amusement for him. But that's how I know he killed my Dad. Because Eddie had kept the broken board he beat me with."

There was a momentary silence broken only by the scratching Biro of Farrell furiously writing, the gentle whirr of the video recorder and Turner's heavy breathing.

"You wanted to know it all." Shawn finally continued. "It could have been me that Eddie murdered. It probably should've been. I dunno how close he came then. All I know I felt like crap and my head wouldn't stop hurting. Dad didn't know how to cope, he tried some. He had some stupid idea that we could be a family but mostly he got drunk and tried to not see anything. I stayed away as much as possible but Dad still needed me. And then Dad wasn't there and Eddie was."

_Well, I've done some of the tell part, I guess I've got to go through with the show part too. _

Shawn finally looked across at Turner, Farrell and Emma, his eyes brimming with angry tears. He swallowed dryly. "This is so hard! I've had to lie for so long because Eddie said if I told he would do worse to Cory. Or to Turner. Or to the rest of the Matthews. And I knew he could. So I lied and lied and lied. And that is what got Dad killed ain't it? The fact that I never told anyone what Eddie was doing, so it just kept getting worse. So you'd better catch him soon, because if you don't, if Eddie comes back..."

Shawn stood up, biting his lip. It was now then. He felt a surge of shame and squeezed his eyes shut, turning his back to the camera, to everyone. "This is what Eddie does." he said dully. "This is what Eddie does to amuse himself if he hates you. If you don't put him away this time, if he comes back… he'll do worse than this now."

His hands trembled as he pulled the hoodie off, letting it drop to the floor. "I couldn't fight him. I tried in the beginning, but it made things worse. So it was easier to just try and be nothing." He pressed his hands to his face, trying to stop the mortified tears.

Emma let out a horrified gasp as Farrell swore. Turner choked back a moan, shaking his head, unwilling to believe what his eyes were seeing. The video camera continued to whirr, taping the frozen tableau.

Farrell's pen dropped from his grasp. "Fucking Christ." he swore again under his breath. The kid's back was a mess of healed or partially healed scars, and a spread of bruises faded to a sick yellowy-green. If that is how the bruises look now, the kid must have been pretty much purple for a long time. But the bruises weren't the worst part. As many as they were, the other marks told a horrific story of prolonged abuse. Leaning forward slightly Farrell could see the scars from burns, from cuts and what looked like someone taking a belt to Shawn's back leaving long pinkish scars in criss-crossing diagonals. "Holy fucking Christ."

Emma grasped Turner's hand on the table without thought. She didn't have to look at the man to know he was stricken with shock. She had seen a lot of terrible sights in her line of work, she'd had dealing with abuse cases too - but this was beyond abuse, this was a deliberate, systematic torture. She couldn't begin to understand how Shawn had covered it up for so long without letting anyone know… and how nobody who was supposed to looking out for him had realized. That would be a question for Turner later, she thought angrily, letting go of his hand. "Shawn?" she said gently. If this was what his back looked like, at some point they would have to examine the rest of him too. God forbid, but what else could he have hidden from everyone that Eddie did to him?

Shawn kept his back turned, his voice thick with tears. "I was too scared of Eddie to do anything. I didn't want him to do worse than this to Cory." He suddenly turned, waxen apart from his red-rimmed eyes, letting his arms fall to his sides. "He called me the Runt. And now I can't ever forget that."

Turner gave a hoarse sob. "Oh Jesus, Shawnie." He didn't care what the others thought, or for their protocol, or for promising Shawn not to speak. He knew why he was always being rebuffed now. But the shame he could feel coming from Shawn was so misplaced he had to act. He just knew he had to go to Shawn and pulled the boy into a fierce embrace, letting the sobbing teenager press his face into his chest as he wrapped his arms around the scarred torso. Because now Turner couldn't forget either. And would never forgive himself for not knowing how bad things had been at home for Shawn.

Because it was there, literally carved across the boy's stomach. Maybe it would fade more in time but it was there now and always would be. One word written unevenly in shallow slashes. R V N T.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: Whatever happens on TV, its all Walt's fault. What happens here is mine. Sorry its a shorter chapter but at least its a quicker update, and will be away so may not get time to write much next week. As always, I am so grateful for all comments, followers and reviewers, I really do appreciate it. (Thanks for new reviews from the guests, Salia248 &amp; BrokenSky49)**

Chapter 16

The fly had finally ceased its endless circling of the overhead light to sit on the edge of the shade. Shawn stared at it through heavy, puffed eyes. It was probably as exhausted as he felt now. More than exhausted, completed drained. He knew he looked a wreck, aside from the swollen eyes even his throat felt thick with the amount of crying he had done.

It was embarrassing, to have sobbed like that in Turner's arms, but he had felt so humiliated, so utterly mortified by what had happened to him and from having to confess it, he had been unable to control himself for once. Shawn couldn't remember the last time he had truly broken down like that in front of anyone. _How do girls cope? Everyday at school some girl is in the toilets being comforted by her friends 'cos she's on a crying jag, and yet they wash their faces and go to next class. How is possible they don't just want the world to swallow them up?_

Shawn guiltily thought of the times he had probably been the one who sent a girl off to the toilets to cry about what a pig he was for dumping them after two weeks. _Way to go Hunter, you're a coward and a pig and those girls would say you deserve all you got._

At some point as Turner was trying to calm him down Emma had left, returning with a mug of cocoa and a plate of cookies. Both sat untouched on the table, Shawn having no stomach for either. He had Turner's jacket around his shoulders but had no recollection of it being placed there. He wasn't cold, but he couldn't stop shuddering sporadically and it was kinda comforting to have the weight and the smell of leather and Turner's aftershave there.

Shawn reached for another tissue and blew his nose. Didn't matter that he'd stopped crying ages ago, apparently his nostrils hadn't gotten the message yet. He saw Turner shoot a worried glance at him across the room before returning to his hushed conversation with Emma and Farrell.

Talking about me, Shawn thought. Well, talk away. I'm just a cog in the machine now and there ain't nothing more I can do but go along with it until I'm processed and spat out again. I just hope if they ever have to play that video in court, they edit out the end where I cry like a freaking girl.

The three adults had gathered at the far side of the room, behind the video camera. Farrell would have preferred them to have their conversation in a separate room but Turner was adamant there was no way he was leaving Shawn in here alone. He wasn't always able to gauge Shawn's moods but he knew for Shawn to reveal himself to him, and to two strangers, so intimately, had left the boy vulnerable and scared.

Turner didn't like the dreary way Shawn just stared at the blank sheet of paper in front of him. Farrell had asked him to list any possible places he could think of that Eddie might hide out in, but either Shawn hadn't heard him, or his brain had simply been overloaded with emotion and he'd shut down for a while. He dragged his attention back to their conversation.

"You've got to let me take Shawn home." he insisted again. "He's done enough for one day, look at him. He hasn't the energy to answer any more questions."

"It isn't as simplistic as that." Emma said gently. "We have to document this properly so it stands up in court. Every mark on Shawn. We also need to check he hasn't suffered any internal damage, or any lasting damage, as a result of his prolonged beatings. I'm making the appointment to meet with Doctor Brookmyre at the Mercy Hospital for today, a.s.a.p. He is good, we use him for all our… um… rape cases." She silenced Turner with a stern look. "I know, but it works the same way."

"And he will be able to give a professional testimony that there was no way Shawn was able to cause these injuries to himself." Farrell shrugged. "Trust me, if this gets to court, that is what the Defense will try and use."

"I will also be able to set up a series of counseling sessions for Shawn, and for you. You're both going to need them extensively." Emma chewed her lip. "Something tells me Shawn is going to be resistant to the idea, but its standard practice and required for fostering. I know you've got Guardianship but the Courts will require it as a condition of Shawn remaining with you."

"What?" Turner hissed, angry. "They wouldn't dare take Shawn out of my care now, not when this is when he really needs me."

"Hey, I agree." Farrell looked vaguely pissed off, not at Turner but at the ludicrous situation. "You are what that kid needs, but there is always the Red-Tape perspective. You're a single guy, you've no experience raising a child, and you're taking on an abused teen. Red-Tape will argue that Shawn should be placed in a foster home that has experience handling abuse cases. If you have the counseling sessions already set up, can demonstrate you're doing exactly what an approved foster-carer would do, its unlikely your Guardianship status will be queried." He grinned without humor. "Expect Social Services to be your best friends and regular visitors."

Turner understood where they were coming from, and appreciated the effort they were now putting in. Probably to make up for their poor performance initially but at least now he had two allies. A horrific thought came to him. He spoke hesitantly, his voice even lower than before. "You say you use this Doc for rape cases… do you think… I mean, is there any possibility -" He couldn't finish the sentence, it was too awful to contemplate let alone say.

He didn't need to as Farrell knew exactly what Turner had been thinking. He thought about the same question himself and answered as honestly as he could. "Brookmyre will ask the question, its what he's trained to do. Personally I think Shawn wasn't." He frowned uncomfortably. "Although if things hadn't turned out this way, if Eddie was still about, could it have escalated to that?" Farrell could see the deliberate intent behind each mark Shawn had shown them and knew the older boy had somehow gotten off on being able to subjugate his smaller half-brother. "If Eddie hadn't killed Chet and had to disappear, I don't know if he would have stopped at beating. I just don't know."

"Christ." It came out a shocked whisper. "Christ Almighty." Turner shook his head. "You'd better be right because the way I feel if I find Eddie before you do, I'm beating the living crap out of him."

Emma held up her hands, calming Turner. "Okay, enough, we're focusing on what helps Shawn. And at some point he's going to come out of the shocked state he is in now and have as many questions for us. He will need your support when he starts to ask when his father's body will be released, how the funeral is going to happen… all of that and more. And, trust me, I'm working on his case from that end whilst Detective Farrell works the investigation."

All three were stunned as a cookie bounced off the side of Farrell's head and landed on the floor in the middle of them. "Hey!" Farrell turned, not angry but looking perplexed. "What was that for?"

Shawn didn't drop his eyes, but the momentary angry defiance changed back to weary tolerance. "I was feeling like I was invisible. You've had your discussion about me. Now you might as well just tell me what else I've gotta do. I don't wanna be coming back here again so if there is stuff I have to do, I might as well do it now. At least its done then. Like ripping a plaster off."

Farrell stared back at the blood-shot blue eyes, now even more deeply circled. There was no hiding the resignation in them, but resigned to his fate as he was, Shawn's resolve to see this through was obvious too. Impulsively Farrell moved across the room and leaned on the table in front of Shawn. "Kid, I was wrong about you, and I apologize for being a major ass. You are one fucking brave kid." He looked back and shrugged an apology at Turner. "He is." He stared hard at Shawn, then nodded. "Yeah, you don't believe it now but I've seen a lot of kids sitting here, who have been through far less. And you are handling this with such courage I promise I'm going to do everything I can to get justice for your Dad, and for you."

"I don't feel brave," Shawn replied in a small voice. "I feel like shit. But I know I've got to do this until its done. So, what fun activity have you got planned for me now?"

Turner and Emma approached, Turner perching on the edge of the table so he could hold onto Shawn's hand. Emma cleared her throat. "I will schedule an emergency appointment with a doctor, Doctor Brookmyre. He is very nice Shawn and he's dealt with similar cases to yours in the past. We have to check you're not carrying hidden injuries, document everything. He will have a lot of questions and you'll probably get tired of answering the same ones again, and some may be… upsetting."

"And I'll be with you little buddy, so any time you need a bit of a break, you just let me know."

Shawn just nodded, shrugging slightly. It didn't matter, nothing mattered. He was a case now, a piece of evidence. But he squeezed Turner's hand anyway, glad he wasn't going to be alone in this.

"Just one more thing Shawn," Farrell interjected. "Have you managed to think of any places where Eddie might have gone?" He glanced at the blank paper. "I guess not."

"I didn't run with the same crowd." Shawn shrugged. "I know some faces, some names, but not where they live or much about them. They were just Eddie's gang. How do you know he isn't just holed up in the trailer now anyway?"

Farrell smiled. "Because its been sealed off with evidence scene tape."

Shawn gave a similar not-quite-patronising smile back. "You've obviously always lived in bricks. There are more ways into a trailer than through the door. My bedroom window looks closed, and if you jiggle it seems so. But if you slip a bit of flat metal into the side it pops right open. Its been broke like that forever."

Farrell gave Shawn a long look before frowning. "I need to check something." He excused himself and left the room hurriedly.

"So, when do we go then?" Shawn asked.

"As soon as I know when, I'll let you know and I'll be accompanying you both to the hospital." Emma promised. "Hopefully you won't have long to wait, Dr. Brookmyre makes police requests a priority. And I'll take you both to my office to wait, its not very big but it will be more comfortable and private there. It has small couch, some books… there is a T.V but its only a portable and the receptions not always that great."

"Okay." Shawn stood up, gripping Turner's hand fiercely, the only outward sign of the fear he was feeling. "Makes sense, we had show and tell, now we get to go on a class trip."


	17. Chapter 17

**Hi all and so sorry for the long wait for an update. I've been too sad to write as I had to have my pet put to sleep and it broke my heart to say good bye to my little boy. Generally its all been a horrible series of events past weeks. But here we are again, hopefully back on track and writing again! Thanks for all the messages of support &amp; reviews as it meant a lot.**

Chapter 17

"Shawn? We're here buddy." Turner glanced down at the tousled head that rested against him. Shawn had spoken little since they left the interview room and had curled up on the couch in Emma's office to sleep. Or at least pretend to be asleep to avoid having a conversation. This time it seemed he had genuinely done so.

Blearily Shawn lifted his head off Turner's shoulder, unaware he'd dozed off in the back of Emma's car. The day wasn't getting any better. He'd stupidly thought that coming clean to the police about Eddie would be the end of it, but he should have realized that wasn't how the system worked. Now it would be more questions, more poking and probing, more involvement with _authority._ Well, he couldn't feel any more exposed and humiliated surely? Shawn half sighed, half yawned. He didn't suppose trying to hide in sleep would put this off any further. Nothing short of running would stop this crappy day getting more crappy and Shawn could see by the eagle-eyed way Turner was watching him that he would probably get wrestled to the floor before getting far on his bum ankle. For an old guy Turner could be surprisingly quick when he needed to. He dry swallowed and sat up, wiping his mouth.

Shawn slid out of the passenger door and stood for a moment, hands thrust in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He could feel his heart racing inside his chest and fought a momentary panic. _You can do this. You've got no choice. Just find a place to make it all go away and stay there until its over,_ he told himself. It was hopeless though, Shawn couldn't find any calm inner place, he was too aware of the rapid thumping of his heart and the fluttering in his stomach. He shuddered as Turner put an arm around his shoulders.

"Sooner in there Hunter, sooner we're out again. I'm gonna be with you all the way, supporting you through this."

Emma nodded from where she waited patiently just ahead of them. "That goes for me too Shawn. You're not alone in this."

With a sudden flash off unreasoned anger Shawn pushed away from Turner and marched past Emma.

_I don't need any help. I've been through worse than this haven't I and got through it? And now Jon knows the truth each time I look at him I can see the pity and worry in his face, and I put that there. He will never look at me as just Shawn again. I'm never gonna escape being Runt. _

He ignored the curious glances they were getting from people visiting or leaving hospital. Oh, he knew what they were thinking. Shawn Hunter, trailer trash, getting out of a cop car so must be in trouble again. Huh. People didn't know the half of the trouble he was in. "I am alone." he asserted fiercely. "In case either of you have forgotten, my Mom took off to hell knows where and my Dad is dead and laying in a mortuary someplace. I didn't get to say goodbye to either of them. So its like its always been. I can look after myself. I'm not a stupid kid."

No, Turner thought. You're trying to be a tough, surly teenager coping with the unimaginable. But you're stubborn enough to try and play this act out... at least until that fragile facade breaks and you need me to pick up the pieces. "We haven't forgotten Shawn," Turner said gently. "And I know you can do this."

Emma gestured to the hospital entrance. "In that case, I suppose you had both best follow me and I'll take you up to Dr. Brookmyre's offices."

As the three of them entered the lift Emma checked her watch. "Once you've had the preliminary chat with Dr. Brookmyre, I'll organize some food to be brought up from the canteen. Unless you feel you need a break and want to go to the canteen of course."

She wasn't surprised when Shawn didn't respond, staring at the lights on the lift panel as if mesmerized. Turner gave her a helpless look. She could only offer him a shrug in return. Shawn, she had come to understand, had his own way of coping. He would physically remove himself from a situation as he had done at their first meeting, or, when that wasn't possible, mentally run away inside himself.

The corridor leading to Dr. Brookmyre's offices were quieter than the main hospital, for which Shawn was glad. He had felt like the eyes of every person who had passed him had known exactly why he was here. He inwardly cringed at the shame of people knowing what he had been hiding for so long. He had followed Emma through the hospital, limping determinedly and forcing himself to keep up. He was aware that Turner was keeping pace with him, aware of the anxious looks he was getting, but some perverse part of Shawn didn't want help and wanted to shut itself off in the only way he knew how to cope with situations beyond his control. Shawn's feet slowed however as he saw Emma stop by a door and knock.

_Oh Christ oh Christ oh Christ._

He came to a halt, suddenly unable to breathe as the panic he had been trying to control reared up, galloping his heart. With one hand against the wall to steady himself, Shawn, unaware how badly he was shaking, tried to rein in the spiraling dread.

Shawn cast an urgent glance back down the corridor, his eyes desperately seeking a way out. "I can't do this Jon. I can't… its too much."

Turner had been watching Shawn closely though, knowing that the act wouldn't last for long. "Oh kiddo, its okay, its okay. I've got you buddy." He pulled Shawn into a fierce hug, trying to instil some comfort into the shaking boy. There was brief resistance before Shawn grabbed him, Turner virtually holdin him upright for a minute. "Easy bud, _easy_. I've got you. Shhhh, just breathe slowly." He continued to murmur platitudes as he stroked the dark head, wishing more than ever he could take some of Shawn's anguish away from him.

Slowly Shawn gatheredsome control over himself and managed to take a deep, shaky breath. His fingers unknotted themselves from their death grip on Turner and he raised his head fearfully. "If it gets too bad..?" he whispered.

"I won't let it." Turner promised. "I'm not going to let it happen to you. Its going to be a rough ride but at any point you feel like that again, you let me know. Okay?"

The door ahead of them opened and a man looked out. Slender build, with black cropped hair and a trim goatee. "Emma," he greeted warmly, shaking her hand. He stepped out into the corridor, surprising Shawn in that he wasn't in hospital uniform, just simple beige chinos and a blue shirt. "And you must be Shawn Hunter. I'm Doctor Brookmyre. You can call me that, or Doc, or Chris. Whatever you feel most comfortable with. Remember this. Nothing happens that isn't on your terms and that you don't feel you can deal with."

Turner was surprised by the slight brogue to the accent. "You're from Scotland?" he asked, knowing how dumb a question it was.

Brookmyre held the door open and smiled. "From Edinburgh, aye. Now, if you all take a seat inside, I'll go through the preliminary forms and questions. All very tedious but necessary."


	18. Chapter 18

**Hello all again, sorry its another shorter chapter but wanted to get an upload on before work takes over. Thanks for sticking with me during my recent hiatus and as ever, I don't own BMW or its characters, etc etc. Disney would not approve anyway.**

**Chapter Eighteen**

Brookmyre softly closed his door and moved to sit at his desk. He had dealt with many cases in the past to assist the police department where there was rape or abuse involved, providing the expert analysis and evidence to help the victim recover and hopefully at some point put away the person who had inflicted the violence. Regardless of the severity, each individual case that was brought to him was unique and equally tragic and terrible for the person involved. He hoped at least this time the abuse had been stopped without causing lasting physical damage. Brookmyre paused mentally. The emotional damage sadly lasted far, far longer.

He noted that Emma had taken a seat closest to the door, Turner beside Shawn. Brookmyre had had little time to read through the case details Emma had faxed to his office but he'd read enough to get an idea of the relationship between Turner and Shawn. _So, this is the kid who climbed down a drain pipe to get away from the police and chose to live in danger on the streets than go to someone for help. __A long held mistrust of authority and been let down enough times by adults to rely first and foremost on his own resources. _

Brookmyre could recall seeing Shawn's photograph on the news, but could hardly put the picture of a grinning, floppy haired boy in context with the person in front of him. _I would say the photograph used was from the school, and at least a year out of date. Somewhere in the intervening period there has been dramatic weight loss, sleepless nights and an extended state of extreme stress. _

He smiled over at Turner. "I understand you're currently Shawn's legal guardian?" At Turner's nod he began sorting through the papers on his desk. "Then you will be able to sign consent forms where required. I'll try to make this as easy as possibly on everyone." The calm green eyes finally caught Shawn's and he saw the barely masked fear in the blue orbs. "Do you have any questions Shawn, before we start?"

Shawn gave a small jump in the chair, still struggling to maintain some outward control. His hands pulled at the edges of his shirt as he tried to avoid eye contact. "Dunno." he muttered. "You'll do whatever it is you've gotta do."

Brookmyre watched the teen's eye flicker desperately about the small office, seeking what, he wasn't sure. The kid could hardly keep himself still, hands running through hair and then being forced out of sight before they'd creep out and start their dance again. A kid who was used to being able to move and to have freedom… Brookmyre, acting on impulse and hunch, spun his chair to the side and indicated the large painting behind him.

"As you can tell by the accent – even if my family back in Edinburgh think I sound American – I'm Scottish. See this? Its a painting of my grandparent's croft. Or cottage as you would say. Its where I spent every summer holiday."

Shawn's attention could finally focus on something, as Brookmyre had hoped. He slowly edged around the Doctor's desk to stand and look at the painting, head on one side. "My Dad once said our family came from Scotland if you went back a way. So.. that's what it looks like."

Brookmyre smiled. "Well, some of it. Behind Grandma's house was the loch, and Granddad would take me out fishing, or I'd be swimming in it. Do you see the wee rowing boat?"

Shawn nodded, transfixed. Somewhere, a long long time ago, his ancestors may have lived like that. A small house of large gray stone, a small red boat and clear, still blue-green water under the shadow of distant mountains. Taking the rowing boat out into that cool, clear water and seeing the fish swimming underneath, waiting for them to take the bait and make the float dance on top of the water.

He was unaware that his breathing had slowed, that the frantic hands had fallen silent by his sides. Brookmyre watched with some fascination. Whatever had been done to this boy over the years it had somehow taught him to find ways of escaping into his imagination to remove himself from whatever was going on in real life. It was almost self-hypnosis. It also could point to someone who had a very creative inner life that had yet to be expressed. Perhaps having an English teacher as a guardian was the best thing that could happen to this kid, Brookmyre mused. That and an extensive time with counseling.

"Okay." he said softly, knowing this was as relaxed as Shawn was likely to get. "Shawn, we'll go through to the examination room. You will need to change in to a hospital gown so I can photograph and examine your injuries. I'll be speaking out loud but don't let it bother you, it is just so the tape can be used should any court case come up at a later date. And any time you need me to stop, just say and we'll take a break."

Shawn's eyes met Turner's as he finally turned from the painting. The panic had been quelled and all Turner saw was resignation. For how long it would last, Turner didn't know. For now all he could do was follow and sit on another chair, in another room and wait and watch and hope Shawn could find more reserves to cope than ever.

– – – –

"Argh! Why won't anyone answer damn it!" Cory put the telephone handset down with some force, unfortunately just as Amy entered the kitchen carrying a bundle of dirty laundry.

"Cory Matthews!" she exclaimed. "There is no need for that language in this house. And certainly not in front of Morgan." She pushed the laundry into the washer and turned to look at her lovable but often confusing son with a frown. "What is going on? You and Topanga had a fight?"

"His _boyfriend_ Shawn won't answer the 'phone." Morgan piped up, grinning mischievously. "Cory's angry 'cos his _boyfriend_ isn't speaking to him."

"Shut up Morgan before I break Barbie's legs."

"Morgan honey, could you go upstairs and wake Eric please?" Amy knew his sister's ribbing was not what Cory needed just then, and she could see how worried he was. This was more than a Topanga issue of young love having a tiff. Alan had been unable to give much information last night when they had finally returned home other than Shawn, whilst safe enough now returned to Turner's, had looked like he'd been through hell and that he and Turner would be going to the police in the morning but for exactly what, neither her husband nor son knew.

"Can I put a cold flannel on his face?"

At Amy's smile and nod, Morgan took off upstairs. Annoying Eric was far more fun than teasing boring sad Cory.

"You're worried about Shawn?" Amy asked, putting her arm around Cory's shoulders.

"I don't know what's going on! And I always know what happening with Shawn." Cory frowned, gesturing to the telephone. "I know him and Mr Turner were going to police this morning but I've been calling their apartment since after lunch and no one picks up. And I don't know what Shawnie had to go to the police for that he couldn't tell me last night. I'm his best friend, but I don't know where he is or how to find him."

It didn't sit right with Cory that his best friend had kept something huge from him. Nor did it feel right that he wasn't the one who was there with Shawn. It had always been him and Shawn, it had always been him who had helped Shawn do the right thing, or face a problem together. Now Cory felt out of the loop and it was frustrating not being able to do anything this time.

Alan came in the back door, having caught the tail-end of Cory's outburst. "I've been out back discussing that same thing with George." he said heavily, sighing. "Sometimes Cory, you have to accept there are some problems that you can't save Shawn from… not now at this time." Alan shrugged at the questioning look from his son. "Its not like covering up for Shawn skipping classes, or vandalizing school property…" He trailed off, wondering how to phrase the extensive conversation he'd had with George appropriately. "Cor, Shawn's been living under the same roof as Eddie for a while I guess. If its found to be true that Eddie did kill Chet… Shawn's been living with a murderer. There may be information he has for the police that he was covering up or he may know where Eddie is. And he needs Mr Turner with him now."

Cory pulled away from his mother and flopped into a seat at the kitchen table. "Shawn would never cover up anything for Eddie. And if he knew where Eddie was he'd have been on the 'phone to them last night. So, where is he and why are they taking so long?"

Alan rested a hand on Cory's shoulder. He knew his troubled son was right, but he didn't want to voice the other theories he and George had discussed. Nor did he want to admit that George had actually called the police station himself as the afternoon had dragged on. Whilst the desk Sergeant had been happy to confirm that neither a person called Shawn Hunter or Jonathan Turner were currently at the station, he was not at liberty to divulge any further information as to their whereabouts.

A disgruntled Eric choose that moment to burst into the room. "Mom! Do _not_ send the Weasel in to wake me up again. She completely ruined my dream of me leading the Eskimos to victory. I was the good-looking Eskimo, we had ice-cream and -"

"_Eric_." Amy's warning tone shut off the usual Eric-babble they were used to.

"Yeah, pipe down. Serious family discussion." Alan glanced briefly at Cory, hoping for once his eldest son would take a hefty hint.

Eric had his faults but stupidity was not really one of them. And empathy for others suffering he could do… even to his own younger brother occasionally. "Oh." He brightened. "Hey Cor, seeing as I've slept in too late to meet Jason, how about you an' me shoot some hoops for old times?" He bounced on the balls of his feet for a moment, not getting a response. "Come on," he wheedled, punching Cory lightly on the shoulder. "You and me and the ol' man here. Mano a mano a… um… mano."

Cory finally let himself be persuaded out of the kitchen by the sheer force of Eric's relentless energy. "I'll join you in a moment," Alan shouted through the back door. "Just to show you there is life in this old man yet!"

He closed the door and made sure Morgan was thoroughly engrossed in cartoons in the lounge before turning to Amy far more sombrely. "Thank God for Eric. Cory needed to be distracted."

Amy moved in for a hug, gazing up at her husband seriously. "So. What did you and George really talk about?"

Alan rested his head briefly in Amy's hair, glad that he had her and a family he could depend upon. "Oh we talked and talked and didn't have any answers. But all it kept coming back to was Shawn had been living with that half-brother of his and if Eddie is capable of killing his own father, for whatever reason, what else could he have done? And I keep seeing Shawn turning up on our doorstep battered and bruised and insisting that Eddie had nothing to do with it."

"Oh Alan, what if -" Amy broke off. She had seen that Shawn seemed paler and thinner, that he would be in and out of their house at odd hours. She knew from overhearing some of Topanga and Cory's conversation that he had been skipping classes. And yet she had done nothing to intervene, said nothing. "I knew something wasn't right, every instinct as a Mom told me! If something happened to Shawn," she began, "and we ignored any warning signs because we just put it down to his usual chaotic home life..."

"Shhh." Alan shook his head. "Feeney and I have been over the same thing. We've all been guilty of seeing Shawn as this tough, cheeky kid who comes from a poor family, sometimes gets himself into trouble but basically not bad. I've gotten so used to him saying he's been in a fight at school, or climbing in the house to sleep, or appearing just as dinner is being served, I didn't think about why. Or what was going on when he wasn't here."

"I feel so stupid!" Amy exclaimed, her eyes wet. "We all knew Chet wasn't a great father, that he would sometimes drink and take off. We knew Virna had walked out on them again. Why didn't I do more to stop this happening? If Shawn has been hurt by Eddie -"

"We can't change what may or may not have happened." Alan reasoned gently. "Shawn has always been good at hiding what goes on at home from the world, even when he was a little kid. Whatever has happened, he kept it from everyone so well not even Cory suspected. All we can do is be there for all of our kids when they need us." He paused and nodded at Amy's raised eyes. "You know I do count Shawn as one of our kids. One that I feel like we've failed horribly at the moment."


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer stuff, Disney etc. Thank you for the new reviews from Guests, SB, JenScott &amp; Salia248. Still filling in the dots gradually to get to where Shawn is going but thanks for sticking with me. **

Chapter 19

Blearily Shawn opened his eyes, registered he was still lying on a hospital trolley in Brookmyre's examination room, and shut them again. He had taken the endless questions, the near inch by inch examination of his injuries, the photographs that had to be taken and the trip to the radiographers for x-rays. But there were some questions that had just been too much to take and, in a complete meltdown of horrified panic that anyone could think he would allow Eddie to perpetrate more intimate injuries on his body, Shawn finally broke. He recalled little after that other than a pricking in his arm and the escape into a soft, gray world.

He sat up gingerly, peeling off the small, round plaster that covered up where he had been injected. With what he didn't know, or care. Being out of it for a short time had been far nicer than staying conscious for whatever further examinations Brookmyre had to do in order to process him through the system.

Shawn felt sore and drained. The humiliation couldn't get any worse. He had a sudden horrible thought. At some point Cory would want to know what he had to tell the police. And how could he tell his best friend and have him forever look at him differently? How was he supposed to face anyone ever again once they knew?

He was glad that the curtain had been pulled around the cubicle giving him some privacy as he wiped his face of more tears. _Stupid eyes, just can't stop leaking like some girl. Hunters don't cry… well I'm making that a lie too._

The curtains also gave him the advantage of being able to eavesdrop on the conversation the three adults were having in Brookmyre's office. It was somewhat muffled and disjointed but he could hear enough to get the gist of what they were saying.

Emma's voice. _"Don't be upset Jonathan. You couldn't have known. Yes, in hindsight it is easy to think there were obvious signs that were missed, but it wasn't just you who missed them."_

Murmured low tones, probably Turner. Shawn felt bad that he had now been responsible for making Turner feel upset. Great. If Turner let him stay after this it would probably only be out of a sense of misplaced guilt.

Brookmyre, cutting in. _"Blame Eddie Hunter for this, and he alone. Look at the x-ray. That V-shape on Shawn's skull is a fracture, caused by Eddie. Not you. Nor anyone else. His brother put that there. Whilst it appears to be __a linear, closed fracture and__ healing, trauma of that kind can leave underlying effects that do not __bec__ome initially apparent."_

Shawn put his hand up to the back of his head, running his fingers over the scar. How close had Eddie come to beating him to death?

Brookmyre again. _"We will have to do an __CT __scan, to check that it is healing normally. You know he has had at least one migraine, when he hasn't suffered from them before. There are other things that could also occur. Fits. Forgetfulness. __Blurred vision. Nausea. __Mood swings." _There was a brief pause. _"More extreme than normal __teenage __mood swings anyway."_

More murmuring before he heard Turner. _"He was sick, earlier today. I thought it was nerves and having eaten too much pizza. Could that have been from the injury?"_

Brookmyre again. _"That is what the CT scan will tell us."_

Shawn was tired as listening to the adults talk about him and slid to his feet awkwardly. His ankle didn't hurt as much now, but he didn't know if that was the painkillers or he'd just gotten used to the pain. He pulled the curtain aside roughly and glared equally at all three grown-ups.

"So, you think I'm going to be retarded or what?

Over Turner's shocked, gasped protest, Brookmyre gave an unexpected soft laugh. "No Shawn, I don't think you could ever be that. You're a far brighter wee kid than you give yourself credit for I believe. No, the CT scan is simply to check that you aren't going to have any later complications."

He moved to stand in front of Shawn and stooped slightly to look Shawn in the eye. "I promise you, this is the last procedure you'll have to go through today. Okay?"

Turner also left his seat, coming across the room to put a protective arm around Shawn's shoulders. "Are you up to it Shawnie, because if you don't feel you can…?"

Shawn let himself lean into Turner. He didn't like hospitals, he didn't like being poked and prodded, and he didn't like to be told he had to have stuff done that he didn't understand. "Will it hurt?" he queried nervously. "I mean, is it like a machine I stick my head in or something?"

"Its painless. It can be a little scary as you have to lie still whilst the scan is happening, and the radiographers – and Jonathan I'm afraid have to leave the room." Brookmyre saw the sudden fear flare up again. This was one kid who had been left so many times he had real abandonment issues. The very mention of his being alone was enough to see panic blaze in the revealing blue eyes. "But it doesn't take more than a few minutes and Jonathan can speak to you on the intercom all the time."

"I'll buzz for an orderly to take you and Jonathan back to radiology. You get to ride in style in the wheelchair again at least." Brookmyre returned to his desk, writing notes on Shawn's file for the orderly to pass on to the radiographer. "You'll have a little time once you're there if you need to get a drink or something. Its not far off the reception and cafeteria. Well, Jonathan will be able to. You unfortunately Shawn will have to stay put as the nurse will need to inject you with a type of dye that will allow your blood vessels to show up and give a clearer picture."

"Great." Shawn said tiredly, gingerly taking his seat in the wheelchair he'd gone to the x-ray room in previously. "Maybe I'll end up with super powers after this."

– – – –

Shawn shivered, sitting alone on a hard plastic chair in the small waiting area. He'd refused to accept anything to eat or drink and – he closed his eyes in brief shame – had pretty much shouted Turner out of the room. He had seen the hurt in the older man's face replaced by a flaring of frustrated anger. Turner had gone then, probably to cool his own jets and let Shawn have his privacy.

Almost privacy at least, if you didn't count the nurse who seemed obsessed with taking Shawn''s blood pressure every time he appeared, asking the same questions for the same forms over and over. He had lost count of the number of times he'd told one nurse or the other that as far as he knew, he wasn't allergic to anything.

He experimentally pinged the plastic casing of the cannula sticking out of the back of his hand. There was a weird tugging sensation under his skin but it didn't hurt, possibly because of the cream the nurse had rubbed in first. The 'magic dye', as the nurse had called it, like he was some little kid, had gone in through the tubing. Now he guessed they were waiting for it to rush around his body for them to see inside him. Brookmyre had tried to explain, but Shawn had zoned out. _Would my blood be a different color now? Would I look blue, or purple, or fluorescent, if I could see inside myself now?_

Shawn glanced about to make sure nobody was watching and picked at the scab on his arm from where he had cut himself at Uncle Mike's. When a small amount of crimson beaded up, he felt strangely relieved and more than a little stupid. _Probably not going to turn into Johnny Storm then. _He grinned faintly. _I guess Hunter's wouldn't have been on the good side anyway._

Hearing the waiting room door open Shawn took a greater interest on staring at the floor. If it was the nurse he would rather she just do whatever more poking and asking had to be done. If it was Turner… Shawn didn't want to see Turner just then. In case he pushed him away again and Turner wouldn't come back.

There was a brief pause before a voice hesitantly spoke. "Shawn?"

It wasn't Turner, nor a nurse. The voice was too young and slightly out of breath. He risked a glance and took in a young girl, blue bandana on her head, dressed in hideously cutsie pajamas decked in fat sheep, leaning against an IV stand. Not a nurse then, just a patient who'd probably seen his face plastered over the television last week.

"Shawn Hunter! It _is _you." There was a slightly breathless giggle, followed by a dry cough. "What's happened, Feeney's detentions gotten a lot harsher in my absence?"

Shawn surprised himself with a snort of laughter. On a day when he didn't think he would find anything funny. He stared up at the skinny girl as she crossed the room, dragging her IV stand beside her. _Who the?_

"Mind if I sit? It gets real old having to keep dragging my drip around."

Shawn nodded, still unable to place the voice or the thin, pale face. Thinner and paler even than his own visage. He gave a hint of the old Shawn grin as the girl placed a pink polka dot cushion on the chair, that he hadn't noticed her toting under one arm.

"Don't mock the cushion Hunter." he was admonished. "When you spend any time in hospital you get to appreciate the benefits of a soft pad on these stupidly hard chairs. Which just get harder the skinnier I get."

A light bulb pinged on in Shawn's head. Now he knew who it was. "Birdy!" he exclaimed softly, smiling. Shawn could remember her suddenly having to be pulled out of school over a year ago, hearing she had gotten sick or something. He felt a pang of remorse that he hadn't paid any mind to her since then, having fallen off the school social radar. But she had been on the edges of the popular crown back in school, and pretty cute. "Wow. Birdy."

Again, the slightly out of breath laugh. "Oh Shawn, you were the only person who has ever called me Birdy. My friends call me Bridgers, the idiots at school called me Bridget the midget. And I never asked you why." Bridget grinned across at her old school colleague and raised an eyebrow. "I never asked in school because you're like _Shawn Hunter_." She made a play of flicking back invisible bangs and pouting. "And I was invisible girl in crowd. I liked it when you did notice me in class and called me Birdy. I just never dared ask. But funny thing is, when I'm now at my least attractive, I find myself sitting here a different person than I was. Next to you." She looked Shawn up and down briefly. "And I guess you being here means you're a different person too." She coughed dryly and paused to regain her breathing.

Shawn swallowed, suddenly all too aware he was sitting in a hospital gown and socks that were far too revealing. He felt exposed, knowing not only was he half dressed, but that she would have been able to see the marks on his arms and legs. He visibly shrank back into the hard plastic, wrapping his arms around his torso to try and hide. "Um. Birdy." He risked a sideways glance but there was no judgment in the green eyes that regarded him calmly, and not without a hint of amusement. "I guess I'm not the Shawn Hunter I was. Whatever that was. You're braver. I'm just a coward."

"Huh." Bridget gave a snort. "I'm brave on my good days. Because when you don't know if you're gonna have a good day again you make the most of it. And I realized that once you take away all the school bull that goes on, its so much easier to do and say as you please." She grinned. "On my good days, I can really annoy the nurses."

Shawn relaxed ever so slightly, grinning back at her. "Its just… I've not…" He stuttered to a halt.

Bridget cocked her head, looking over at Shawn with nothing other than a compassionate interest. "What happened to you?" Seeing Shawn tense again, she punched him lightly on the arm. "Oh come on Shawn, you're here, I'm here. You might as well tell me. Its not like I'm going to go anywhere. I don't get to have many interesting chats with kids my age."

The silence was punctuated by the ticking of the wall clock before Shawn spoke. "Eddie." he said flatly. "My dead-beat half brother. Eddie happened to me. He would…" Shawn closed his eyes. "He would find ways to beat on me, cut me… he…" Shawn trailed off before turning to look at Bridget. "I was too scared and ashamed to say anything to anyone, not even Cory. And I've been hiding it so long its freaking me out that you're looking at me. Sorry."

"Don't apologize. Christ I spent several months freaking out all the time." Bridget began un-knotting the bandana on her head. "Here, I'll make us even stevens." She removed the blue cloth and folded it into her lap, grinning. "There you are Hunter. Chrome dome and crater skull. I'm not ashamed for people to see it, not anymore. I got over the freaking out stage. You know why? Because I'm a soldier, and these are just my battle scars."

Shawn stared, more fascinated than repulsed. Whatever surgery had been necessary it had left a deep indentation across the top of Bridget's scull. He didn't think he was ready to embrace his scarred self yet, didn't know if he ever would be. But it was amazing that this girl he knew, this skinny sick girl, had matured into one tough cookie. He finally unclenched himself, and, on impulse, kissed Bridget on the cheek. He grinned when she blushed.

"What was _that_ for?"

Shawn shrugged, trying to tug the hospital gown over his protruding knees. "Because you still have beautiful eyes. And because you have a lovely shaped head." he replied with total honesty. "And because I wish you hadn't gotten sick because it meant I couldn't ask you to the Christmas dance that year."

Green eyes widened. Bridget shifted on her cushion to stare at Shawn. She could see he was being serious, no teasing. "Whooo." She began to smile. "Shawn Hunter, you just made my day. Weirdest compliment I've ever been given, but hey. I'll take it." She raised her eyebrows. "Christmas dance? You really would've asked me as your first choice? C'mon Hunter, don't completely whitewash me."

She liked the grin that appeared on Shawn's face. It was almost like time had been turned back and they weren't sick, or beaten, or dying, or orphaned.

"Well, you were definitely in my top five Birdy."

There it was again. "Shawn," she began, "time to fess up. After all the years we were at school together why are you the only person who calls me that, and why did you never explain why?"

"Because the reason is a little embarrassing." Shawn threw up his hands in mock surrender at her poke in his side. "Ow! Okay. You remember we were at kinder garden and had Miss Schwartz for painting?"

Bridget giggled. "You kept calling her Miss Warts."

"Yeah." Shawn grinned back at his re-found friend. "Well that is part of it. I mean I was only a little kid, and reading… I was a little behind on." He stopped. He'd been behind on his reading at the start of kinder garden for some time, but no one at the Hunter household had the time or inclination to read stories to their kid. He had caught up, but for a while letters were a jumble of hopeful guesswork. He pushed the thought away and continued. "So in painting class I was next to you, and you'd painted this brown bird. Or that is what you said it was. And then you painted your name under it."

Bridget nodded. "You call me Birdy because the first time we met I painted a really bad bird?"

"No." Shawn could feel himself grinning even as he blushed. "No, it was because I couldn't read what your name was. The only letters I could make sense of, I thought you'd written Birdy. So I thought that was your name for ages. Even after Cory explained to me how to read your name properly, Birdy had stuck."

Bridget started laughing and after a heart beat Shawn joined in.

Once her giggles had tapered off Bridget smiled wistfully. "You and Cory… you've always been good friends haven't you?"

"Always. There haven't been a lot of constants in my life but Cory, and all the Matthew family really, they have always been there."

Bridget spun the plastic hospital bracelet on her wrist. "Get one of these on you for a while, you find out who your friends are. In school I was in with the crowd y'know. The _popular_ kids." She said in with a trace of a sneer. "Getting sick put that in perspective. Once you're not around all the time, you can't accept invitations to parties… a lot of those popular kids I thought of as friends soon dropped off the radar." She brightened. "On the plus side it did show me who my true friends were. The ones who don't mind just hanging out with me at home 'cos I'm not well enough to go shopping, the ones who don't think they can't be seen out with me 'cos I look different. Mindy, Claire, Alex, they have stuck with me. And Cory will stick with you Shawn."

"I guess." In truth Shawn didn't want to have to tell Cory any of what had happened to him, didn't want him to know what Eddie had done to him. He didn't know if Cory wouldn't be mad that he'd lied for so long. "And I'm sorry I was one of those jerks who forgot about you too."

"I think I can excuse you." Bridget replied dryly. "You have had rather a lot going on to deal with yourself."

They sat together in comfortable silence for a minute before Shawn looked over and waved his hand expressively. "So… this. The whole sick thing. Are you going to die from it or have they done enough to make it right?" _What was the word? _ "Remission?"

Bridget took his hand in her own and smiled sadly down at their socked feet. "Mom cries herself to sleep most nights. I've not asked because I didn't want a time scale. But when the bad days are there I hope it is over soon and when the good days come I hate the fact I'm not going to be able to do all the things I want to. Does that answer your question Hunter?"

Shawn squeezed her hand back. "And I'm sorry about your Dad Shawn." Bridget added. "I saw it on the news."

Shawn cast a sidelong glance over. "Yeah..." he sighed. "I'm sorry you ain't going to get to see and do all the things you should be allowed to do."

Shawn hesitated. "Um, look I know I'm a mess and probably the last thing you need but if you have a good day and your friends can't hang out with you, it would be cool to chat. If you wanted to just have someone else to talk to."

Bridget grinned, her green eyes sparkling. "I suppose we're both a bit of a mess. But I'd like that Shawn, I really would."

She pulled her hand away as their privacy was interrupted by the entrance of a nurse, followed by Turner.

"Bridget Carter!" the nurse exclaimed. "How many times do we have to tell you NOT to leave the ward?"

"Oh possibly about 1000 more times." Bridget smiled as she stood up. "Speak to you soon Hunter."

Shawn grinned as the nurse, fussing, propelled Bridget – in his wheelchair – out of the room. "I owe you that dance too!" he called after her, his grin widening as he heard her laughter before the door closed.

Turner took the vacated seat and looked at his ward quizzically. He hadn't been gone that long and Hunter was what? Making dates? Admittedly he looked far more at ease than at any other point in the day. "What gives?" he prompted, pointing to the door.

"Ran into Birdy." Shawn replied cryptically. "Or she ran into me. She's cool."

Birdy? Bridget Carter… Turner ran a mental checklist of students and finally placed her. "Oh hell, poor kid." He paused, trying to think of a diplomatic way of saying he didn't think Shawn was ready emotionally to get involved with a girl who would ultimately have to leave him. "Shawn, you know she is -"

"Dying. Yes, she told me." Shawn shrugged, eyes studying his feet. "That sucks. But its not what you think. She sometimes needs someone to talk to and hasn't got many people her age to do so with. And she doesn't mind if I don't want to talk about stuff."

_Point taken Hunter. _

"Are you ready for this scan then because the nurse – before she had to return her missing patient – said everything was ready now?"

"I'm fine." _If a Birdy can be strong enough to take all this and keep going, a Hunter has to too._


	20. Chapter 20

**Hello everyone, thanks for your patience. A few weeks later than would have liked with the update - sorry! Thank you as always for the messages and for the new reviews from all Guests, SB, Salia248 and Joyfish98. I am pleased you're sticking with me on my meandering journey. I know its Turner-centric chapter but it whichever part of my brain this story lives in, he was very insistent!**

Chapter 20

Turner winced as the bathroom door slammed shut. He closed the door to the flat rather more quietly and put his helmet on the side table, pausing to retrieve Shawn's from where it had been flung on to the couch.

"Shawn? You okay bud?"

The voice was muffled but unmistakably angry. "I'm going to the toilet Jon. Or do you need to check I can do that without having someone watching me too?"

Turner sighed. It had not been an easy day, not for Shawn certainly, but not for him either. And he was suddenly full of doubts that he had the skills to deal with a damaged, scared kid who had lost everything. He didn't blame Shawn for reacting with anger after all he'd had to endure today, but he was a teacher of English, not a psychiatrist.

Reaching into his jacket pocket Turner pulled out the bunch of leaflets Brookmyre had given to him. He glanced briefly at them before heading to his bedroom to put them out of Shawn's sight. They would be some hard bedtime reading.

The bathroom door opened but as Turner walked back through to the lounge he was only in time to see Shawn's back before the door to the spare bedroom – _Shawn's bedroom_ he corrected himself – was also slammed shut. Music, guitar heavy grunge, filtered through shortly after. Louder than Turner would have liked but he wasn't going to be picking Shawn up on that this evening.

Was he up for the challenge he had taken on, willingly but without any knowledge of what it would entail? He had become Shawn's guardian officially and was glad to have done so, but at that time he hadn't known about the months of pain Shawn had been through at Eddie's hand. Turner hesitated briefly before shrugging and pulling a beer from the fridge. If he wasn't what was best for Shawn, if he was just fooling himself… Turner took a long slug from the bottle before moving to sit on the couch. No. He couldn't think like that. If he didn't get a grip on this he'd not only let Shawn down, he'd be putting the kid into a system where he'd be put into foster homes, put back into situations of uncertainty and constant change. And he knew Shawn had put up with enough uncertainty and upheaval in his fifteen years that many adults took a lifetime to experience.

It was the shock of seeing it he couldn't get over. Seeing Shawn standing with his back to them, trembling, forced into letting the marks on him be witnessed for the first time. It was unbelievable that Shawn had been able to cover it up so long, worse that no one had ever put the pieces together to stop it.

Tuner winced as the sound from Shawn's room got louder. _Oh you crank it once more I am going to have to take a hard line. _

Leaning back on the couch Turner took another drink of beer, thinking back to the last session with Brookmyre. The doctor had been explaining that he would organize for Shawn to have counseling sessions, both at the hospital and, when he was back at John Adams, at school too. The concept had not gone down well with Shawn. Having had school counselors on his back for much of his school life to say he was… _resistant_, was an understatement. Eventually, to prevent another Shawn melt-down, Emma had offered to take him to the canteen to get something to eat.

Naturally, Shawn had his own ideas on how that was going to happen also. On his brief chat with Emma before they had parted ways Turner had discovered that aside from ordering two milkshakes, Shawn had decided he didn't want anything to eat and was going to visit the ward where Bridget – his _Birdy_ – was instead. And had sat by the sick girl's bedside gossiping about kids at school, sharing the milkshakes. After having introduced Emma as _"Don't mind the nark, she's not a proper police officer. She's just paid to stalk me."_

Turner took another drink, mentally toasting Brookmyre. Their talk after Shawn had left had at least given Turner a glimmer of hope.

– – –

It had been Shawn's abrupt exit that had prompted it. Turner had begun to apologize for Shawn's outburst but Brookmyre waved it away with a quiet smile.

"There is no need for apologies Mr Turner," the doctor begun, "Shawn is only behaving as I would expect. He doesn't know how to handle what he is feeling inside so his instinct is to get away from whatever situation is making him feel those things. And Emma is with him, she won't let him out of her sight."

Brookmyre leaned forward on the desk, tapping Shawn's file with one tapered finger. "Shawn may not get the best grades but stupid? He's nae that. He has his own intelligence and a creative imagination. His coping mechanisms have shown me that. But that is a double edged sword because if you have the ability to imagine yourself out of bad situations, you can also imagine a thousand bad scenarios on what will happen next, how people will perceive you… and so on and so on. What has been going on in Shawn's head, its not anger at us, it is a reflected rage at what has happened to him, at losing his father, and the shame he feels."

"But he has no reason to be ashamed!" Turner exclaimed. "I don't get why he couldn't confide in me, or his best friend Cory. Christ, they're usually inseparable."

"I've not been with Shawn long enough to have a full insight," Brookmyre began, "but I deal with cases like this most weeks. People are going to look at Shawn differently, treat him differently, once they know what has happened. Imagine you're Shawn and you're in school. You have to get changed for gym. What is going to happen?"

Turner paused. "Some kids would stare. Or you'd get a few make fun of him, or cruel jokes. I guess some would feel sorry for him." He looked up in realization. "Oh. Not behaving as if he's just Shawn."

"Exactly. Teenagers are a sensitive breed without Shawn's additional problems. Therapy may well help him, reluctant as he is to participate. But he _will_ have to. It would seriously harm your chances of keeping guardianship." Brookmyre rooted in his desk drawers for a minute or two before handing Turner a slim bundle of leaflets. "Not all of these will be entirely relevant to your and Shawn's situations, but there will be something in there that may help you understand. And the therapy sessions are not just for Shawn. You will have your own session with the therapist after Shawn's so you can discuss problems you are having, ways of coping." He slid over a business card. "My contact number, if you need to speak to me, if Shawn appears to be showing any signs of migraines or the other symptoms we discussed that would indicate the skull fracture is causing problems." He wrote another number on the back of the card. "And this is the number for a support group. For carers of abused children."

The words hit Turner hard, as though all the air had been punched from him. "Holy..." _That's what I am. Oh Christ it sounds so dark, so alarming and I am clueless. _"I'm not sure I'll want to sit in a group talking about this."

Brookmyre shrugged. "You may, you don't have to though. The reason I'm giving you their number is because they have an excellent network of support. You can call this number almost any time of the day or night and it will root through to one of the volunteers. And they have a lot of experiences you might want to draw on, or just to be able to talk to someone who understands."

Turning the card over in his hands, Turner visibly sagged in the chair. "Don't look so terrified," Brookmyre said gently, "If I didn't think you were the best option for Shawn right now, it would state that in my recommendation notes. But you are going to find it a challenge. Don't be the martyr and turn to these people if you need to."

"I can do this?"

Brookmyre laughed. "Say it like you mean it, and say it to yourself every morning. And every hour. And believe it."

Turner tucked the card into his wallet for safe keeping. "I _can _do this."

– – – –

Turner's reverie was disrupted by a louder wail of electric guitar. _Jesus Christ, I can feel that bass thudding through the floorboards!_ He stood up, mentally shaking his head at how he almost sounded like his own father for a moment.

_Time to go parental._

Turner strode to Shawn's door, wincing at the noise. He hammered a fist against the wood. "SHAWN! Have some respect for the other residents in the block, and for me! You can play music, just not so LOUD!"

He waited, wondering if this was going to be the first test. If Shawn rebelled against him now he wasn't entirely sure what he would do. Thankfully, after a heart stopping moment too long, the music was lowered to a level that Turner could live with.

"Thanks." Turner paused. He had not really had the opportunity to speak with Shawn alone all day, nor had the kid eaten more than a few mouthfuls of anything solid. Time to address both issues. Turner tapped on the door. "Shawn? I'm going to fix us some tea, what would you like?" He opened the door and stepped through into the small room.

"Oh hell, Shawn." Turner knew why the music had been cranked so high now. Not to rebel, not to piss him off. Just a wall of noise to mask the sound of someone sobbing out their rage, hurt and fear. Without the music to hide behind Shawn was hunched over his drawn up knees, face buried deep into a pillow. In fact, so deep in the pillow to try and muffle himself Turner was afraid the boy would suffocate.

He crossed to the bed and put an arm carefully around the violently shaking shoulders. "Hey bud," he said, swallowing around the lump that had formed in his own throat, "you gotta come up for air before you smother yourself down there."

A harsh, incoherent sound was the only response but at least Shawn wasn't pushing him away. Turner took his arm away from Shawn's shoulders and moved so he was sitting on the bed in front of the boy. Slowly, he began to gently uncurl Shawn's hands from the tangle of hair they were knotted in. There was no fighting him this time. Turner didn't think Shawn had any reserves left to fight him on this one now.

He held the limp hands in his own, smoothing the knuckles as he spoke softly, firmly. "Come on kiddo. Look at me. I'm not going anywhere. Look at me Shawn."

There was a wet, snotty sound from somewhere under the dark hair. Sighing, Turner let go of Shawn's hands and briefly stroked the top of his head. "I know you're under there Shawn."

With a hitching intake of breath Shawn finally raised his head out of the pillow's embrace. It wasn't a happy picture. If there was one word that came to Turner's mind looking at Shawn's face, it was _undone_. He'd simply blown apart. Wet cheeked, snot trailed and eyes brimming with all the hurt he felt staring widely out of burning red sockets. "Oh little buddy."

From the lounge the telephone began to ring and ring, demanding attention. Turner couldn't help but look towards the door automatically. "Probably Cory," he said, trying for humor. "No doubt going frantic because he hasn't heard from you all day. Filling up my answer machine -"

He looked back at the bed and stopped talking. Shawn was kneeling on the bed, shaking his head frantically. "Nnnnngh… nnn…. Caaaa..." Words couldn't form but the panic was more than clear.

"No telephones. No Cory. Just you and me little buddy." _The dam has well and truly burst. _"Whatever it is you're trying to hold inside there, don't. Let it out Shawn. Just let it out."

Shawn raised his head, eyes screwed shut, and did.

– – – –

Turner hugged the shivering boy kneeling in front of him, one hand stroking the back of Shawn's head were it rested on his shoulder. The sobbing had tapered off into hitching breaths. Although it had been beyond just sobbing, what Turner had heard had simply been an anguished wail at the world, wordless noises of pain and tears that had hurt his heart to hear as much as he knew Shawn had needed to release, or unleash, those demons. He said nothing, but simply kept stroking Shawn's head until he felt the tense frame slowly relax.

Shawn eased himself away from Turner, wiping an arm across his face as he did so. He felt limp and strangely empty. He didn't know how long he had sobbed, cursed and near screamed for, probably not that long, but now all he had left was a tired, strange, shaky numbness. He flicked a glance over to Turner before looking down at his hands. "I slimed on your jacket Jon." he said hoarsely.

Shrugging off his leather jacket Turner inspected the shoulder and chuckled. "The jacket will survive. Its no worse than the time ol' Mrs Stawski's hound from downstairs decided I was kibble to be drooled over." There was the faintest of smiles. Not much, but a start. "How are you feeling now?"

Shawn shrugged. "Dunno. Fine."

Turner shook his head. "Nuhuh, you can't get away with _fine_. Just try and tell me, 'cos I've got to understand this stuff Shawn. And you've gotta help me."

"I don't know." Shawn replied wearily, wiping his arm across his face again. "I can't explain it. I don't have words for it." He could feel Turner's eyes on him without looking and stared instead at his hands, flitting about his lap like lost things, like -

"Garbage." Shawn blurted, making Turner start. "I feel like garbage." He half closed his eyes frowning in concentration. "Y'know, like you're walking in the park and you see something like a… like a paper bag. Its empty and the wind runs it across the grass, then throws it in the air. Whips it around for a while, gets it snagged into a tree. Then it winds up someplace in a puddle. You know its still a paper bag but its torn and dirty and just… garbage." He went to wipe his nose on his sleeve but stopped himself. "Um. Could I have some tissues Jon? And a glass of juice? "

"Sure kid."

As Turner strode back into the kitchen he swiped a hand over his own eyes. Shawn may have let out a days worth of pent up emotion but Turner wasn't kidding himself that the coming weeks weren't going to be filled with more outbursts. In all shapes and forms. And as much as Shawn had said he didn't have the words to express his feelings it had been an eloquent image. Not bad for someone who had spent months sleeping through or skipping classes anyway.

He grabbed a handful of tissues and returned to Shawn's room with the glass of apple juice, handing both to the frazzled boy. "You're _not _garbage Shawn. Life has dealt you a crappy hand of late but none of it is your fault."

Turner perched on the side of the bed as he got no response beyond a shrug, watching as Shawn chugged back most of the apple juice a one go. "You understand that don't you? Nothing that has happened is your fault." he reiterated.

Shawn pushed balled up tissues off his lap and avoided Turner's eyes, slowly tearing the remaining whole sheets into shreds. With his hands occupied he finally spoke. "I don't know." Shawn said quietly. "I have just been trying to live with everything and not screw up too much and… I just don't know. It freaks me out. People knowing. Looking. Judging."

As out of depth as he felt, Turner tried. "The people who are your friends Shawn, the people who care about you, we aren't judging you or seeing you any differently. You're still Shawn, and scars will fade, time will heal -"

"Yeah right." Shawn interrupted in sudden anger. He lifted his shirt up to reveal the twisted pink scar that spelled 'runt' across his stomach. "How long before I do this and you don't wince and force yourself _not _to look away huh?" He rolled up a trouser leg and pointed to a round scar on the side of his calf. "How long before I go out in shorts without getting pity stares? You tell me Jon, because from where I'm sitting, looking at you, its gonna be a hell of a long time." Shawn sagged, the fight going from him as quickly as it had risen. Flushing he tugged his clothing back together and hugged his knees to his chest. "Christ Jon, I can't even bear the thought of telling Cory. I'm avoiding my best friend, my only truly best friend, when I know he is going mad because he doesn't know what has happened. But I can't talk to him. I don't know how or what to tell him. I don't know how to face him and say I lied, and why, and have him no longer being my Cory."

Shawn finished off the rest of the juice and gave Turner a wary, sidelong glance. "You want me to be honest? Right now I feel like I never want to leave this apartment again. Leaving this room is a challenge. Everything is..." He huffed a long sigh. "… unknown."

Turner had no idea what to say. He hadn't been trained to deal with this. It was the most honest Shawn had been with him in a long time, and he was groping in the dark for a suitable response. In the end he simply pulled the reluctant boy into a quick hug. "I don't have the answers for you Shawn. Its hard for a teacher to admit they don't have the knowledge for something but we will get the answers, together. But there is one thing I can say I know, right now."

He waited until the pale face rose in question. "I know you're a far brighter, stronger kid then you give yourself credit for. And I also know we both need to eat."

At least there was a brief shy grin. Shawn sat up, shrugging. "Eat..." he pondered, picking up the handful of shredded tissues. "I was so hungry I ate a slice of pizza from a box in a bin. Now I can't think about eating."

_The more I hear, the more scared I get. I can only hope Shawn can one day tell me everything. And hope I have the capacity to help him get past it all._

Turner pasted a smile on his face. "Sloppy Joes. I may not have your winning ways with pancakes but I can throw together a pretty tasty Sloppy Joe. Have a rest kiddo, I'll shout you when its ready."

Shawn subsided gratefully onto the bed, uncaring he was lying in a pile of tissues. He was drained from the whole day, and a thoroughly emotional evening. Everything would still be there when he woke, but for now his brain needed a switch off.

– – – –

Leaving the mince to defrost in the microwave Turner took a minute to check on Shawn. The boy lay curled on his side on top of the duvet, a piece of tissue stuck to his check. In exhausted sleep at least he looked peaceful, for however briefly.

Turner closed the bedroom door softly. Shawn may not want to speak to Cory yet but his answer machine light was flashing like an accusing, blinking eye. He deserved to be told something, not just him but all of the Matthews who were Shawn's second family, Feeney… Turner paused, suddenly realizing how little Shawn had left that belonged to him at the apartment. He would have to call Emma too, see if there any way he would be allowed access to the trailer to pick up clothes and anything else of Shawn's left there.

It never stops, he thought sadly. I try and fix one problem, only to find I've got dozens more to sort out. But the kid turned up with nothing but the filthy clothes on his back and a few basics that I'd picked up or had loaned from the Matthews.

But there was no question as to who he had to call first. The blinking light had answered that one for him but Turner was relieved when it was Alan who answered.

"Hey Alan, its Jonathan. Sorry I haven't called sooner, its been a bit of a long day."

\- _Christ, Jonathan, am I glad to hear from you._

There was a brief pause and Turner could hear a door closing before Alan spoke again, his voice low and worried.

\- _Amy is here listening with me but Cory is upstairs having a bath and Eric is out on a date so you can speak freely. What on earth has been going on? __What had Shawn done that he needed to speak to the police about?_

"It wasn't what Shawn had done." Turner said heavily. "It was what Eddie had been doing to Shawn." He heard Amy's sharp intake of breath even as Alan shushed her. "I can't go into it too much because Shawn is being, well, he's having some trouble coming to terms with people knowing so I don't want him to feel I'm going behind his back."

\- _What did that thug do?_

The anger was suppressed but it clear in Alan's voice. He'd had his moments of reservation about Shawn in the past but the thought that someone would do anything to a kid he had grown to care a great deal about was a red flag.

"In short, Shawn has been hiding a whole lot that was going on at home, going on for some time. Eddie..." Turner pressed a hand to his head. "He'd been beating Shawn. No. More than beating him. He'd pretty much been using him as a chew toy. We had to go to the hospital after the police interview. Eddie had fractured Shawn's skull -"

\- _Oh my God! Poor Shawn!_

Whatever Amy had been going to add ended in a stifled sob.

"I know. He never said a damn thing because Eddie had threatened to go after Cory if he did. Until that vicious punk is locked up I don't think Shawn will ever feel safe. But he is as okay as he can be in the circumstances, its just… going to be a long journey to come back from. I know you're going to have to tell Cory something but don't let him… um… don't let him go full on Cory over this please?" Turner knew he sounded awful but he didn't have the time to think of a better way to phrase it. "No offense to Cory because he's a great kid with a huge heart, but I need to know Shawn is ready to face this before an earnest Cory on a mission moment."

\- _Its okay. I'll think of someway to tell Cor the gist of what has happened. Although how he'll deal with not being able to be there for Shawn I don't know. __We'll work something out Jonathan. Just look after yourself and Shawn and keep us in the loop."_

Promising to do so Turner said his goodbyes and just hoped his faith in Alan and Amy as parents was right and they could keep Cory on a leash for a little while. After checking on the cooking and another peek at Shawn he dialed the next person he knew he had to talk to. Feeney.

Much of the conversation was a repetition of that he had with Alan and Amy. There was no hiding the shocked dismay in Feeney's voice either as Turner gave him a little more detail on what exactly life had been like in the Hunter home for Shawn of late.

\- _Tell me honestly Jonathan, no prevaricating. Exactly how bad is it?_

"George. I failed, I made the worse mistake I ever could." Turner choked up but forced the words out. "I failed to see what was happening to someone who was not just in my class, but was occasionally under my roof. Hell yes, its bad. I can just about work out how me and Shawn are getting through the next hour but I have no idea, no clue at all about how we're going to get through the next day, or the one after that. He's lost his father, his mother is God knows where, his murderous half brother is on the loose. I don't know when we'll be able to have a funeral for his father or what will happen if Eddie is ever brought to trial. The kid has nothing, absolutely nothing left." Turner swallowed. "I've got not a clue. I can't leave him alone and I know I've taken time off..."

\- _Oh nonsense man. I'll square it with the school board for you to have extended leave. This isn't a normal situation and you'll have all the time you need, I'll see to that. First and foremost Shawn's well-being is the priority. Protect him, care for him, but don't forget that if you ever need someone to talk to… I'm always here too. And Jonathan… you didn't fail Shawn. We all were remiss._

"Yeah, I guess so." Turner said quietly. "Thanks George and I promise to keep you updated. I've gotta go though, I'm halfway through making tea and I've still got to call the police to see if there is anyway I can pick up some of Shawn's stuff from the trailer."

Putting the telephone down Turner returned to cooking to quieten his thoughts by just being busy. If he was to call anyone at the police department he'd want to try Emma as the most likely to get around any red tape that would stop them, well, by-passing police tape. But although she had given him her mobile number Turner thought it might be inappropriate to call her at home in the evening. And he needed to talk to Shawn first to gauge his feelings. He wasn't certain if it was a good idea to take Shawn back to the trailer to pick up anything he needed, but something told him Shawn would insist on wanting to go.

I'll call first thing tomorrow, Turner decided. And to hell with it being Sunday. She said I could call anytime if I had any problems. Decision made Turner added Worcester sauce to the mince.

_Tonight is for making sure Shawn eats and just trying to have a moment of peace for the kid. One step at a time as lord knows what tomorrow will bring._


	21. Chapter 21

**Hello again, usual disclaimers about not owning BMW or its characters. Thanks for your continued patience for the next update and warm thanks as always for the messages, to all guests, Joyfish98, SL, Salia248, ronniefranco8 and Nicole for kindly reviewing and as always, hello to followers. As ever, appreciated greatly. **

Chapter 21

"I just can't believe it. Oh God, poor Shawn." Amy wiped her face again. She had seen Shawn in their house, she had known something was amiss, deep down. But not this. As crazy as Shawn's home life was never had she thought he would be going through anything so awful.

"I know." Alan squeezed her hand briefly before he went back to a frowning contemplation of the coffee mug in front of him. "If I had known that damn step brother of his..." He paused, trying to swallow back the rage he felt. Someone had hurt not just his son's friend, but a kid he cared about. And that didn't sit right with Alan, not at all. But Eddie wasn't around any more to get angry at. The anger had to be put aside, for now. It was his own kids he had to be concerned about right now. One in particular.

"How do we tell Cory?

Amy took a deep breath. "I have no idea. What do we tell Cory? He's been pacing by that 'phone all day and we have to not only tell him what happened to Shawn, but somehow explain why his best friend doesn't want to see him right now."

"And its not just Cory. Shawn has been practically part of our family since… well since forever. We've got to talk to Eric and Morgan too."

Both looked up as the kitchen door burst open, Eric coming through with his arm slung around Jason's shoulder, a manic grin in place.

"Oh dude. We _so_ have to do homework with Karin and Abbey again. I swear I have learned more about both biology _and_ french with them that I would through a hundred lessons with Feeney."

Jason snorted laughter before coming to an abrupt halt. "Oh. Hi Mister Matthews, Missus Matthews. Um..."

Alan held a hand up. "I don't want to know. Jason, sorry son but we're about to have a family meeting so I'm going to have to cut short any plans you and Eric had for the rest of this evening."

Jason pulled a face and backpedalled through the door. If Eric was in trouble the last thing he wanted was a slice of that action. "Hey, no problem. I'll… just be going. Catch you later Eric. If you're still alive." Giving his best friend a smirk Jason left.

"Oh hey now. Mommy, Daddy! It was only kissing. I'm sure you guys remember kissing?"

"Eric, sit down."

There was something in his Dad's voice that stopped Eric's clowning in it's tracks. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen both his parents so… grave, so upset. Not since Grandpa Poppy had died anyway. Eric sat down abruptly.

"Oh no, its not Nana Boo-boo is it?"

"No Eric," Amy said quietly, "she is fine. There is something we need to tell both you and Cory though." She looked across at Alan, raised her eyebrows in question. "I should talk to Morgan. A more early primer edition of what has happened."

"Yeah." Alan again squeezed Amy's hand, thankful more than ever that she was his gentle, reliable rock. "Send Cory downstairs. I'll deal with the boys."

As Amy left the kitchen Eric stared at his Dad, wide-eyed. "You're kinda scaring me here. If nobody has died why are you and Mom so serious and sad?" He paused. "Oh my God. You're getting a divorce and I was adopted."

"No Eric." Alan said wearily. "No one is dead, or getting a divorce. I do wonder sometimes if I didn't mix up the cribs in hospital when you were born though." He looked over his shoulder as Cory came downstairs, slowing on the last few steps as he saw the serious face on his Dad. "Sit down Cory. I need to talk to you both, and I need you especially to listen."

Cory stood very still for a moment and then took a seat at the kitchen table between his father and Eric. "I know. I _know_. Its Shawn. And I'm guessing its something bad."

– – – –

"So I can't call him?"

Alan shook his head. "No."

"And I can't go over to see him tomorrow?"

"No. Not yet."

"I don't get it." Cory resumed pacing the kitchen floor. This wasn't right. Shawn was his friend and okay, so he had been hurt by Eddie. Why did that mean he wasn't going to speak or see his friend? They were always there for one another. He spun around. "Shawn doesn't want to see me or speak to me?"

"Yes Cory, at the moment." Alan tried to quell his impatience but it wasn't easy. Cory wanted one thing, and that was to go to his friend and do every Cory-thing he could to make Shawn feel better about the situation. "He is still your friend son, but he has been through a heck of a lot lately. Shawn needs some space to get his own head around everything, and you _will_ respect that."

"But Dad," Cory protested. "you know what Shawn's like. He doesn't make good decisions when things go wrong. This is the last time he needs to be shutting people out. That is what got him in this situation to start with, not telling me!" He paused. "Well, not telling anyone."

Amy returned to the kitchen, stopping any retort Alan was about to make. "Morgan's gone to bed. She was a little upset knowing that someone had hurt Shawn. Even watered down it was a lot for her to process. Its a lot for us all to process." She sat down in Cory's vacated seat and leaned into Alan's shoulder. "She found Mister Snuggles and took him to bed with her." she ended sadly.

"Mister Snuggles?" Alan queried. "I thought that old rabbit went into the charity bags after Morgan said she'd outgrown him."

"I rescued Mister Snuggles." Eric looked from Amy to Alan. "I gave it back to Weasel and told her to hide him somewhere because one day she'd want him. Because sometimes its only an old and familiar friend that can make the world right when you need a hug." He turned to stare at Cory. "And you are Shawn's Mister Snuggles. You're his oldest best friend. And just because he's put you in a box doesn't change that Cor. Shawn will know when he needs you, just as Morgan knew when she did. When it matters. When he is ready." Eric shrugged dismissively. "I dunno. I just didn't want to see Morgan lose Mister Snuggles."

"I am _not_ Mister Snuggles!" Cory hissed back, furious. "And you're wrong. Shawn never wants help when he most needs it." He strode to the kitchen door, opening it with an affronted flourish. "I'm going out. To talk to Feeney. Maybe he will have a little more understanding beyond toy rabbits."

"I'm coming with you." Eric used his slight height advantage to out stare his younger brother. "Someone needs to protect Feeney."

As the door closed Amy looked over to Alan. "Should we warn Feeney?"

"No, no." Alan gave a tired grin. "I'm sure Feeney can handle our insane genius son."

"And which one would that be?"

Alan chuckled. "They're both idiots. And they're both good sons who only ever mean well."

– – – –

"Feeeeeney! Feh-feh-feh-Feeeeeney! Fee-neh-neh-ney!"

Cory stared at Eric with astonished horror. "What are you doing? Are you completely crazy? Feeney will flip!"

The back door opened to reveal a rather stern faced Feeney, tying a paisley, silk dressing gown around his waist. "Eric!" he exclaimed impatiently. "How many times do I have to ask you? You can use the door bell and not yodel for me like an andalusian sheep herder."

"But where would the fun in that be?" Eric replied. "Mr Feeney, Cory needs your advice. He won't accept he is Mister Snuggles and -"

"Will you stop with the Mister Snuggles references already?" Cory looked imploringly at Feeney. "Its about Shawn Mr Feeney. My parents think I'm wrong wanting to help him and Eric is being no help."

"You know I'm always here to listen to the problems of my students Mister Matthews." Some more than others, Feeney thought ruefully. As much as he tried to keep relations with his students on a strictly teacher-pupil basis, living next door to the Matthews meant they, and in turn those they cared about, became rather more important to him too. "I guess you had both better come in. But take your shoes off!"

– – – –

It was very weird sitting in Feeney's house Cory thought. Everything was so very _neat_. He fidgeted awkwardly. "I hope we weren't disturbing your evening Mr Feeney."

"Oh no, no, not at all boys." Feeney sat in a comfortably stuffed leather chair and regretfully closed the book he had been reading. He picked up the balloon glass and swirled the brandy around the bottom for a moment, observing. Eric, as ever, looked as at home as he did most places. Cory on the other hand… looked anxious and on edge. "I was merely enjoying a re-visit of F. Scott Fitzgerald, but that will be here another night. So, what brings you to my door Mister Matthews?"

Cory took a deep breath to calm himself. "Its Shawnie. Mom and Dad told me how Eddie has been beating on him for ages. And Shawn never let on, never opened up to me or told anyone he needed help. And now they say I can't call him, I can't go visit him. Because Shawn doesn't want to see me right now." Cory threw his hands up in frustration. "I don't get it! He's my best friend and he says he can't see me? And my parents can't understand that Shawn never makes good decisions when he's hurt or upset, he always wants to go off or do something stupid, but I always find him."

"Like Mister Snuggles." Eric added unhelpfully, taking some of the grapes from the fruit bowl on Feeney's coffee table and popping them into his mouth. "You can only be there when he needs you, not before."

"Eric. Shush." Feeney could understand Cory's consternation. The pair had always had an inseparable bond since kinder garden. To be shut out now, knowing his friend had hidden something so huge from him, was a double blow. And Cory probably didn't know the full extent of what had happened which is why it was so difficult for him to comprehend the seeming rejection of his friendship.

"Mister Matthews, I agree with you partially. Yes, Shawn has done things in the past where he has made mistakes and not reacted by making the most sensible of choices. But this wasn't a mistake Shawn made. This was something forced on him. Something so terrible he was afraid to speak to anyone about it. Yes, he should have turned to someone, but in extreme situations people aren't wise. People are scared, or ashamed, or want to protect those they care about from retribution."

"But -"

Eric gave Cory a strangely adult look that silenced him. "Mr Feeney," Eric said quietly, "what didn't Mom and Dad tell us? We're not kids, Shawn's like a brother to me as much as Cory is. They said Shawn's pretty much been having to look after himself and that Eddie was beating him up regular."

Feeney bit his lip, looking down into the brandy glass. He occasionally liked a small sherry before bed, but the events of the past few days had called for a rather larger glass of brandy. There were some things a teacher just should not miss, and he had. It preyed on his mind. "I don't know all the details either at this time. I guess your parents had a similar telephone conversation that I did. But it was more than just 'beating up' Shawn. Eddie fractured Shawn's skull."

"Holy shit." Eric flopped back on the couch, staring at Feeney, the expletive slipping out without thought.

Cory's face paled, a taut horrified oval. "Is Shawn… is he gonna be okay?"

"In time, yes." Feeney stood and patted both boys awkwardly on their shoulders. "But at the moment Shawn has to come to terms with what happened to him before he can face you, or anyone else. He is still your friend, but when someone has been through a traumatic event, sometimes… sometimes they just need time to process it. And it isn't just everything that Eddie put him through, he has a missing mother, his father is dead, his world is completely torn apart." Feeney paused, adding sadly, softly. "When you don't have a lot, to lose someone is tragic, to lose them in such a way is… devastating."

There was a lengthy silence finally broken by Cory sighing hugely. "I get it, I guess. But to not be able to just tell Shawn I'm here for him, or to see how he is… urgh." he ended with a groan. "I don't want Shawn to think I'm mad at him for not telling me. 'Cos I know Shawn, and he will think he's betrayed me in some way by not talking to me."

"Couldn't you just write him a letter or something?" Eric shrugged. "That can't be an intrusion can it?"

Feeney nodded, clapping Eric on the back. "That may be just the thing. A carefully thought out note Mister Matthews. Deliver it to me tomorrow morning before lunch. I'm seeing Jonathan Sunday afternoon as I need to pick up his lesson plans, any homework he has been marking and arrange cover for his absence whilst Shawn is off school. I will see that Shawn gets it, and will tell you how he is."

Cory pursed his lip slightly. "So you get to visit, I don't?"

"Don't be petulant Mister Matthews." Feeney admonished gently. "I am Mr Turner's employer and he would usually come here but does not wish to leave Shawn alone right now so suggested I go to his place. I dare say Shawn won't be thrilled to see me but as his teacher, I have to speak to him too. Rest assured if you bring me a letter, I will pass it on tomorrow afternoon. And I will speak to you after to answer any questions I am able to."

Cory nodded, thankful that at least he had some way of communicating. He wasn't satisfied, but he knew Feeney was doing his best, as ever.

– – – –

Sunday morning found Turner sitting at his breakfast counter, nursing his second coffee. He checked his watch. 9.25am. Twice he had gotten up in the night, small sounds rousing him from restless sleep. The first had been to find Shawn on the couch, watching TV in the dark with the sound off. _Couldn't sleep he had said. Eyes like saucers and yet, he couldn't sleep. _

Turner had sat with Shawn for a while, watching some late night B-movie western in silence with him until finally the boy's head had begun to nod to his chest and he could be steered back to bed. _That had been what? About 2am? _

Then there had been the incident at the window. Turner didn't know what had woken him but he'd left his bedroom to find Shawn standing in the kitchen, leaning against the fire-escape window. He had called his name, but as he had approached it was clear Shawn was more asleep than awake.

"_Shawn? What is it?"_

_And that fearful, unaware voice replying. "He's still out there. Eddie. Somewhere. He'll come back for me Jon. I'm unfinished business."_

He didn't know if Shawn had been truly sleep-walking, or was so in need of sleep he barely knew what he was saying. Turner did the only thing he could think of and pulled Shawn away from the window and into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"_I won't let him get you kid. The police will get Eddie first, trust me. You're safe now."_

When he got Shawn back to bed that time he made sure that the night light _and _lamp were left on. So what if the teen couldn't sleep without lights on, he had enough reasons to be afraid of what was in the darkness.

And that had been somewhere near 5am. Turner finished his coffee and stretched, shoulders popping. He had made it through one day and night of being Shawn's guardian and he was already exhausted. Oh well, if he ended up with a head of gray hair, it was nothing compared to what the kid had to deal with.

With his stomach reminding him that breakfast was running late, Turner tapped lightly on Shawn's bedroom door, listening closely. Not hearing any movement he eased the door open and gave a small shake of his head. The room appeared dimly lit after the brightness of the main room but he could see Shawn was curled up fetally in a swath of dressing gown and duvet like a small animal burrowed deep in its earth.

As much as he wanted Shawn to sleep, he felt that the boy needed food more at this time. He could always nap on the couch later if needed and hopefully have a less migratory night of wandering later.

"Hey, Shawn, rise and shine buddy." Turner gently shook the area he assumed was a shoulder and stepped back. He wasn't surprised when Shawn gave a startled grunt and instinctively rolled away frantically. Unsurprised, but saddened that the first reaction was to get away from someone. He pasted a smile on as Shawn emerged from his nest, bleary eyed. "Time for breakfast kiddo."

As Turner was buttering toast Shawn finally slouched out of his room, pulling up a stool to the counter. He watched Shawn over the rim of his mug. It was hard to read what the boy's mood was, other than weary and somewhat distracted. More bread was being torn into squares than was going into him anyway.

"C'mon Shawn." Turner cajoled. "I didn't burn the toast, at least eat it."

He was relieved when food and juice actually started being taken in, but knew something was still off with Shawn. But it was a grope in the dark as to what. "Do you remember getting up at all last night?"

A shrug. "Dunno. Maybe."

"Nuh-uh. Don't pull that on me Shawn. No more 'dunno' or 'fine' or 'whatever'. We need a pact, a pact that we talk to each other. That means you talk to me about what is going on in your head. And I if am bothered about something, I'll be honest with you. Okay?"

A blue eye peered up at him from under a link hank of hair. Wary, probing. "Okay. So be honest with me Jon. How many times have you regretted signing that guardianship form so far?"

_You're a sharp kid. And boy, can you read peoples' emotions at times. _"Shawn," Turner responded emphatically, "never. Not once. I will never regret that decision. Why would you think so?"

Shaw returned to chewing on a square of toast, shrugging and looking downwards, avoiding Turner's gaze. "Dunno. Just that you..." he hesitated for a moment. He didn't want to know, but he had to know. If he was just being allowed to stay here because Jon felt it was the right thing to do but he didn't need some screwed up kid messing up his life… _I'll leave. I'll go somewhere. I'll get my stash from under the trailer and just take off. I don't want to be Jon's burden._ Shawn didn't notice he was tearing the break into smaller and smaller pieces. "You don't have to let me stay here. Not if its just 'cos you feel guilted into it. I see you look at me and frowning, sort of. If you're wondering if you've messed up your life taking me in -"

"Jesus Christ Shawn!" Turner grabbed Shawn's hands, ignoring the greasy crumbs. "Look at me. I've not been guilted into anything, having you here… its what I want. What I missed from the moment I let you go. Honestly, yes, its going to a challenge, but for both of us. And if sometimes I look a bit off-kilter, its not you kid, believe me." He paused and then lowered his head so he could catch Shawn's eyes. "I'm sorry Shawn, if anything I've done has made you think that way. I don't regret this. I regret not having realized what was going on, I regret I'm a total amateur at this and don't want to let you down. But regret signing those forms? No."

Turner waited for the slight nod before relinquishing Shawn's hands. "Okay. See, this is why we need to talk to each other Shawn. So you don't get crazy ideas like that. Anything else bugging you?"

_My Dad's dead, I don't know how to deal with that, or when I can properly say farewell to him. Eddie is out there somewhere, free to do what he likes. I've turned my back on Cory because I know he'll be mad at me for not telling him what was going on. Each time I have a shower I just see a whole bunch of scars that show exactly what a coward I am. I got my Dad killed so why do I deserve having people like Jon and the Matthews looking out for me? _

Shawn swallowed the acidic feeling that rose in his throat. As much as Turner was instigating an honesty policy Shawn had become so accustomed to the constant need to dissemble, to put on a front, it was too soon to drop the masquerade. "I've only got a few bits of clothing here." he offered instead. "I only ever brought over what I needed, most of my stuff is still in the trailer."

The first thing that Shawn ever said was rarely the truth. Turner knew that. He also knew that this was an issue that needed to be addressed. "Well, I've got some of your stuff in the drier so you will have enough clean clothes for today, tomorrow. I'll have to contact the police department and see about getting permission to access the trailer so we can pick up the rest of your stuff."

"Permission?" Shawn queried, sitting up straighter. He pushed the hair of his forehead, glaring angrily up at Turner. "I have to ask permission to go into my _home_?"

"Its a crime scene Shawn, you can't just walk in there." Turner wished immediately he could recall the hastily spoken words as he saw Shawn's mouth close to a thin line. "Look, I'll make a call this morning, see if I can't get Emma to pull a few strings and get us in there."

Shawn rose from the counter, the anger emanating from him. He jabbed a finger in Turner's direction. "It is not a crime scene. It is my _home._ I don't have to ask permission from no one to go into my own home."

"Shawn," Turner moved around the counter to grab hold of Shawn's sleeve, knowing in a few words he had probably undone any good he'd achieved that morning. And not a little hurt at the emphasis Shawn had put on _home_ in relation to the trailer. "Shawn! Damn it!"

He watched as Shawn pulled from his grasp and slammed into the bedroom. When the music started, he sighed. At least it was at a reasonable volume. Turner shook his head. One day he would hopefully learn Alan's way of dealing with his kids. Hopefully he'd learn quick. Breakfast abruptly over, Turner went for a shower. He would talk to Shawn again about organizing a trip to the trailer once he'd washed up and they'd both calmed down.

– – – –

Turner hummed quietly to himself as he rubbed a towel through his hair, a bath sheet wrapped around his waist. The shower had been what he had definitely needed. The time spent under the hot spray had given him time to think as well as relax. He knew in future if he just paused for five seconds before answering some of Shawn's comments, he be in a lot less danger of blurting out something so callous again.

Draping the towel around his shoulders Turner padded over to Shawn's bedroom. Hearing the music still playing he tapped loudly. "Shawn buddy? I just want to apologize for what I said earlier… it was stupid and I wasn't thinking. Shawn, can you forgive me?"

The music continued, but otherwise there was no response from behind the door. Sighing Turner went to grab a T-shirt and some sweat pants from his room. He paused as he moved past the kitchen area, frowning. Had he opened the drier? He was pretty sure he hadn't… Empty. Okay, so Shawn had retrieved his clean clothes and dressed whilst he had been having a shower. Why was his heart suddenly doing flips in that case?

Turner spun, gazing at the room trying to work out why he felt something was wrong. Shawn's jacket was gone, as was his skateboard. _Shit._ Turner ran back to Shawn's bedroom, hoping he was going to find Shawn sat listening to his grunge music as he threw the door open. Seeing he was not, he sagged against the door frame. He'd been in the bathroom about 45 minutes, and in that time Shawn had dressed, taken his skateboard and disappeared in a fairly typical angry-Hunter move. One he should have seen coming. "Damn it Shawn!"

_Hopefully he hasn't done anything more stupid and my hunch is right – he's gone to the trailer._

Turner only hesitated for a moment before dialling the mobile number on the business card lying by the telephone.

_\- Emma Sanders. Hello?_

"Um. Its Jonathan Turner, I'm sorry for calling you on a Sunday but its kinda urgent. I really need your help Emma. I'm sorry if I'm disturbing anything."

\- _Not at all, in fact I was just taking my dog out for a run. Has something happened to Shawn?_

"I think he's gone back to the trailer." Turner flushed. "We had a small row, he stormed to his room, I went for a shower. When I came out he had gone. It was getting access to the trailer that started the disagreement which is why I am hoping he has gone there."

_\- Right. I'm parked near the station so I'll grab the paperwork and then pick you up and we'll head down there. You can tell me what happened on the way._

Turner felt slightly reassured by the brisk, no-nonsense tone as the connection ended. He just hoped he was right and not only had Shawn gone to the trailer, but he'd still be there by the time they got there too.


	22. Chapter 22

**Usual disclaimer regarding ownership. Sorry for the delay, been hectic trying to fit Xmas shopping in around work and life stuff. As always much gratitude for the messages and support, thanks to new reviews from SL, guests, Salia248 &amp; Jack (glad you enjoyed your stumble over here!) and also to Alex (was interesting to read someone's take on each chapter as not had anyone do that before). Shout out to the followers and favers too. Hope you all have a great December and Christmas wherever you are.**

Chapter 22

Shawn knew he was going to get in trouble with Jon. He knew he was, as Cory said so often, going into a tailspin. Leaving Turner's had been stupid, reckless… and right now, he didn't care. Shawn just knew he had an urge and had to play his actions out regardless.

The journey from the apartment had been a frenetic hurtling the streets on his skateboard, taking risks he would never normally do. Desperation to not be stopped, to not be seen, was a strong motivator. Shawn only slowed when he saw the Pink Flamingo sign ahead. He stopped, breathless and his ankle protesting, popped the board into his hand and moved with a greater degree of caution into the trailer park. Being a Sunday morning it was thankfully quiet as Shawn had no desire to speak to anyone.

It felt odd to him, being back here now after everything. The last time he had been here he hadn't known his Dad was dead, he'd had to contend with Eddie's temper. He had still been pretending to the world outside that everything was just fine. Now that was all turned on its head and Shawn felt like a stranger in the place he knew best. He kept his head down and made his way quickly to the trailer.

Shawn ignored the door, festooned with police tape, and went to what had been his bedroom window. He wasn't surprised to see a board hastily screwed over it. After all, he had been the one who told Farrell about the broken catch. That was why he had taken a kitchen knife from the apartment as a make shift screwdriver. It took several minutes of effort and a bloody finger or two, but finally the last screw came free and he could use the knife to prise the window open.

He dropped his skateboard through, took a quick glance to check he wasn't being obviously watched, then wormed through the window as he had done so many times before.

– – – –

"Take the next turning, the trailer park is on the left."

Turner wished he could turn back the clock and do this morning entirely differently. Anything that wouldn't have led to Shawn running out on him without a word and only having hope that the kid had come here and not decided to take off for who knew where. He glanced over at Emma, watching as she concentrated waiting for the lights to change. Calm, collected and not offering a word of blame in his direction, not for Shawn running off or for disturbing her day off.

Emma felt his stare and briefly turned her head. "Stop worrying Jonathan. I got Farrell to sign the paperwork at the Station to access the trailer – although he did say that if this turns out to be 'another massive snafu' I would owe him more than a bottle of Jack." She turned her attention back to the traffic. "And, if Shawn isn't there, we _will_ find him."

As they parked to the side of the trailer park entrance Turner looked at her again, eyebrows raised. "You sure you want to risk leaving your car here, I've seen this place at night. It was kinda rough."

Emma gave a slight grin back. "Relax, its not night and I've got Mindy in the back seat." She leaned over her seat to pet the Rottweiler-Labrador cross laying there. "You're on guard duty Mindy."

To Turner the dog appeared to be a black Labrador with ginger socks and eyebrows and a prevalence for sleeping. "If you're sure. If anyone tries to break in at least she may slobber them into submission."

Together they picked their way through the trailer park to where Turner knew the Hunter trailer was. Emma looked about with some interest. She had a feeling that somewhere behind the partially closed curtains there had been several pairs of eyes on them since they had arrived, watching and keeping quietly out of sight.

"This is it." Turner said heavily, staring at the police tape. "Christ. That makes it all a bit real."

"Just watch where you stand and don't touch anything inside." Emma instructed as she pulled the tape to one side, opening the door carefully. Stepping into the trailer it was initially hard to make anything out in the dim light but the smell was inescapable. The shut-in stench of stale alcohol and cigarettes, of weed and the greasy aroma of old takeaways. She took a cautious step further inside, motioning for Turner to follow. It may have once been a home, but it seemed Eddie had changed that. The furniture was stained, bottles and takeaway cartons thrown on the floor and there was a general level of filth that made her almost wish she had put on a SOCO suit before coming in.

Turner had never been inside the Hunter's trailer. He knew it hadn't been as bad as this pre-Eddie, but the thought of Shawn being forced to try and exist in this environment made him feel sick. There was an indentation on the panelling smeared with rusty brown. About the height of a boy's head if you were strong enough to push him with force. He swallowed. "Shawn?" Turner called out quietly.

Emma held up her hand, her eyes flashing an urgent message. In the twilight of the trailer she had seen what Turner had not. It hadn't helped that Shawn was dressed mostly in black. But there, at the back of the room, crouched on the floor behind a small table, he was. Oblivious to the fact they were there, dark head bowed and perfectly still.

She held up a warning hand to Turner, not wanting to startle Shawn into running past them. Although as she moved across the room she realized flight was actually unlikely. Shawn wasn't able to run. Coming here, facing the place of his demons, had pushed the boy far enough. Close enough to hear the rapid shallow breathing she knew she was looking at someone close to a panic attack.

"Hey little buddy." Turner crouched in front of Shawn and gently stroked the back of his head. Again, he couldn't help the lurch his stomach made as he brushed lightly over the scar he could feel beneath the hair. "Its okay." A shake of the head under his hand negated that.

"Jonathan, he needs a paper bag to breath into, he's hyperventilating." Emma glanced around the room. _Damn it. There was no way there would be a clean paper bag anywhere amongst this chaos. _ She could only think of one solution. "Help him to the sofa. I think I've got a paper bag in my purse."

Any instructions to not touch or move anything went out of Turner's mind as he swept cigarette butts and cans from the sofa. Then it felt like a repeat of their shaky walk through school on migraine day, except this time Shawn had an old biscuit tin clenched to his chest.

"Shawn, you need to hold the bag over your mouth and nose and just try and breathe normally." Emma said gently, but firmly. She helped Shawn position the bag and pulled a wry face at Turner, perched gingerly next to Shawn with one hand rubbing the boy's back. "_Sorry._" she mouthed. "_It was all I could think of._"

Turner rolled his eyes. It was a solution. And he certainly wasn't going to point out to Shawn that he was currently trying to gain control over his moment of hyperventilation by breathing into a sanitary disposal bag.

– – – –

Seeing Shawn's breathing calm somewhat Emma took the paper back from him and hastily screwed it up and pushed it deep into her purse. "What was it?" she asked gently.

Shawn took a deep shuddering breath, Turner's hand on his back a steadying comfort. "I wanted to come home." he began hesitantly. "And then I was here… and all I could see was Eddie. Everything. Everywhere. I mean, I know we didn't have a place like Cory's to start with but it wasn't like this, not before. Not broken, stained, ruined. This is Eddie. It isn't my home any longer is it?"

"No Shawn. And I'm sorry" Turner pulled the all too slender figure towards him. "Your home is with me, at _our _place. This shouldn't have happened, not to you. The fact it did… we'll work on that, together."

"I didn't mean to run out. I know I did. But I wasn't thinking." Shawn turned his head, blue eyes searching Turner's face for any sign of anger or disappointment. "I just wanted to get my stuff and didn't like being told I had to have permission. And I wanted something that belonged to Dad to remember him by."

"Is that what this is?" Emma tapped the edge of the biscuit tin but drew her hand back as Shawn clutched it tighter to his chest protectively, looking at her with mistrust.

"Yeah. And you're not stopping me taking it."

Emma held her hands up. She wasn't going to argue with that ferocious glare. They'd compromised the area already and if it ever came to light as part of the investigation both her and Farrell would be on traffic duty the rest of their careers. "I think you'd best grab Shawn's clothes Jon and we'll get out of here."

Shawn pointed to his bedroom door, left ajar. "My board is on the bed too. I'll need that." As Turner went through into what had once been his room, Shawn stared down at the tin in his hands. It had always been kept on top of the kitchen unit. Just an old rectangular biscuit tin that had once had read _Huntley &amp; Palmer_. Now so scratched up the design was reduced to _Hunt er_. That was why his Dad had kept it. Kept it and used it to store anything he considered of enough importance to preserve. Shawn had once asked what was inside. '_Its where I keep all my secret plans Slimjim._' Shawn squeezed his eyes shut. _I miss you Dad. You never told me your secret plans and even though I know you didn't really have any secret plan to make us rich, I wish you were here to still pat this tin and tell me its where the secret plans are kept._

– – – –

It wasn't a bedroom. It was a wardrobe with a broken door hanging off, a single mattress on the floor and a pile of splintered wood stacked against the wall. And this was where Shawn had slept? When not at the apartment or the Matthews, this was what Shawn thought of as his bedroom? No wonder he'd not complained about sharing a room with a load of storage boxes. As Turner opened the wardrobe one side of the door came off in his hands so he simply shrugged and leaned it against the wall.

Inside the wardrobe was probably the only neat place left in the trailer. What little Shawn had, he tried to look after, that was obvious. The clothes were wrinkled but folded as best Shawn could. Turner pulled the khaki duffel from the bottom of the wardrobe and quickly stuffed in everything he could see. It wasn't much.

He picked up Shawn's skateboard from the mattress and took a final look around. There was nothing else in the room that said in had been a teenager's room, no posters, no trophies, no personal effects. Turner pulled open the drawer on the small nightstand, hoping he wasn't about to discover a teenager's porn stash. Thankfully it contained an address book, some notebooks and little else. Turner pushed them into the top of the bag and left the small, sad room. He would be glad to get Shawn out of here, hopefully to never return.

"Time to go I guess." Turner nodded down at the duffel. "I'll put this in your boot if that is okay Emma?" At her nod he added, "I'll try and screw the board back over the window too." He gave Shawn a stern look. "I don't suppose you thought to pocket the screws did you?"

Shawn limped over to the wall, avoiding Turner's eyes. He took a picture of the trailer off the wall and cradled it to him with the biscuit tin. "No," he replied apologetically. "I dropped them to the ground. Sorry. Um. And I took this. I didn't know where you kept like tools and used the knife." Shawn took the kitchen knife from his back pocket and held it out, not without a touch of defiance in his eyes.

Emma broke the moment. "I've got a tool kit in the boot of the car. There is a screwdriver in there Jonathan, as long as you don't mind it having a pink handle." She held out a placating hand. "C'mon, we need to go, we've been here quite long enough."

Outside the trailer Shawn fidgeted nervously as Turner went to try and fix the bedroom window. As soon as Emma had locked the trailer door and put the crime scene tape back in place he thrust the picture and biscuit tin into her hands. "You gotta look after these."

"Shawn? What? Wait!" Emma spun in total surprise as Shawn suddenly dived underneath the trailer. "Damn it."

Turner came around the corner of the trailer, frowning at her sudden expletive. "Where's Shawn?" he asked, unable to hide the sudden flare of anxiety.

"Under the trailer." Emma replied. "Don't ask me, he just dived under there. Slippery than an eel."

"Stop freaking out, I just needed to get something of mine." A somewhat begrimed Shawn wriggled out from under the trailer, holding a plastic Tupperware tub. "Its mine, the money I earned doing the paper routes. I hid it under the trailer so Eddie couldn't take it off me like he took my money from Uncle Mike's."

The happy defiance fell away as soon as Shawn took the lid off the tub. It fell to the floor, empty. Shawn stared from Turner to Emma, eyes shining with angry un-shed tears. "He knew." he said with dismayed fury. "Eddie knew all along and let me think I could hide something from him."

"How much was there?" Emma asked.

Shawn shrugged. "It would have been enough to get me on the bus to New York." He shot a look towards Turner, only with a hint a guilt and apology. "Its not like I went anywhere." Shawn took his belongings back from Emma, pausing to kick the Tupperware tub under the trailer angrily. "It was just my net in case it all got too bad."

Turner didn't know how to respond. He was afraid of the fact that Shawn saw running away as a choice, and strangely moved that the boy hadn't decided things had become too bad. Thin, pale, scarred and emotionally traumatized, he still hadn't considered the situation bad enough to leave. Turner didn't know what that meant, except Shawn was uniquely, stupidly, stubbornly, resilient. He put his arm around Shawn's shoulders and propelled him towards the car. "Let's go home kiddo."

Shawn came to a sudden halt next to the car. "Will that eat me?"

Emma chuckled. "Mindy? No Shawn, she's as soppy a dog as you'll sit with. Mindy does volunteer work as a pat dog at hospitals and retirement homes. Worst case scenario, she'll drool on your leg."

– – – –

Back at the apartment Shawn was first out of the car. He'd had enough of being visible to the outside world, enough of having a large and unfamiliar dog panting in his ear, enough drama and disappointment. Shawn just wanted to be inside and find out what his Dad had really kept in his old tin.

"Did you remember your keys Shawn?" At the shake Turner threw his own over. "Let yourself in then, I'll bring your stuff up." As Shawn thankfully disappeared Turner removed the skateboard and duffel from the boot of Emma's car and then stood awkwardly. He'd disturbed this woman's Sunday morning, possibly got her in trouble at work, inconvenienced her in every way possible. He held out his hand. "Thank you so much for all you've done today. I know we messed up your day off and I owe you, really owe you."

"You could buy me dinner." Emma flushed. She hadn't meant to blurt _that _out. And she could see the surprised amusement on Turner's face. "I meant, I would welcome the offer of a coffee and quick lunch with you and Shawn if its not an imposition. I'd like to see that he is settled after this morning and answer any questions he may have had come to him." Damn it, she could feel her cheeks burning. "Oh, I forgot. Mindy. I wouldn't expect you to put up with having a dog in your apartment. I had best be off, she needs feeding too."

"Its not a problem." Turner grinned. "Shawn had a pig in the apartment for a while. I think I can find Mindy something to eat too. Like I said, I owe you. A quick lunch with me and Shawn is small payment."

He led the way and held the door open for Emma to enter. Turner was altogether surprised by Shawn's glare from across the room.

"What is she doing here?"

"Whoa. First up, you can still be polite. Second up, I owe her. She put her day off on hold to help us this morning Shawn. The least we can do is share lunch."

Emma looked at the tight, angry face across the room, one hand holding onto Mindy's collar. "If my being here makes you uncomfortable Shawn, I'll go. It isn't a problem."

Shawn wanted to say _yeah, you are making me uncomfortable. Get out of here. _But he couldn't stand another look of disappointment from Turner ending in another row. He felt drained from the morning, his ankle hurt, inside felt like a deep hole. In the end he just shrugged and gave both adults a pouting look. "Stay. Whatever. I'm not cooking." He slumped onto the sofa.

Emma saw Turner's patience was beginning to wear down. He'd had Shawn run away from him, chased him across town, seen the trailer and the effect of what being there had done to Shawn. And he was still new at this. She dealt with families and children like Shawn though, it was her work and what she had been trained to do. She could see the way he tenderly held onto the only thing that had belonged to Chet he had to cling onto. Lunch was probably very far from Shawn's mind.

"The tin Shawn." she asked gently, motioning for Turner to sit on the sofa also. She let go of Mindy who instinctively went straight over to Shawn and lay down at his feet. Emma sat on the floor, keeping a small distance. "It was important to your Dad, its important to you. I think we can postpone lunch for you to open it. Unless you would rather be in private to do so. What do you think?"

The tin was rough under his fingers, familiar in its external appearance and knowing nothing as to what his Dad really kept inside. Shawn was torn. He wanted to know what was inside, he was scared to open it. He wanted to be alone, and he was terrified of not having Turner there. He closed his eyes, one hand on the tin and the other finding its way down to stroke Mindy's head.

The soft, smooth rhythmic motion was calming. Shawn opened his eyes, his anxiety clear in the glistening blue orbs. "I want to know because it was Dad's. He has had this old thing since I remember. If its all I have left of him -" The words were choked off and Shawn resumed his petting for a moment before continuing. "But if it turns out to just be a heap of old betting slips, IOU's and unemployment slips…" He looked up despairingly. "I dunno what to do. If I don't open it, I'll never know. If I open it, I could just feel worse."

"Schrödinger's cat," Turner replied, putting a hand on Shawn's shoulder. "Not that you listen in class, but a cat in a box can be considered both dead or alive and you can't know until you open the box to see."

"Must've been asleep through that one." Shawn muttered, still more focused on his own inner box debate. "I don't have a Shrewdinger cat. I do have a slobbery dog though." He leaned forward, taking his hand from Mindy's head and staring intently at the warm brown eyes. "What do you think big mutt?"

Emma hid her smile as Mindy sat up and placed a massive paw on Shawn's lap, gazing up at him before giving the biscuit tin an interested snuffle. It didn't matter that her big, daft dog was probably just hoping it contained treats. Sometimes things just were right.

"Okay. I guess that means I'm opening it then." Shawn gave a brief pleading look to Turner. "Well, if it turns out to be a dead cat..."

Nudging Mindy out of the way Shawn upended the tin on the coffee table. Like ripping off a plaster if he didn't do it quickly he wouldn't be able to do it at all. For a moment he couldn't move, then one slender hand snuck out and spread the small haul. There were faded envelopes, some official looking documents, photographs, oddments like an old watch with no strap, a ring and such. It looked like a random and inconsequential bounty, but it was all Shawn had. He just felt too overwhelmed to make sense of anything he was seeing. The only thing he could focus on was a faded Polaroid. It was his Dad, much younger, a little slimmer, holding a blanket wrapped bundle. Grinning down at a tiny hand around his thumb.

His hand trembled and he bent over and picked it form the pile, turning it over. There it was, in his Dad's printed handwriting. _My Shawnie._

_He loved me, in his own way, from the first. He was there as I was born to hold me. He wasn't out on the road chasing dreams, he was there._

–_ – – – _

Lunch had gone better than Turner had thought it would. Just sandwiches, and leftover sloppy joes for Mindy. Sitting with Emma in the kitchen the talk had for once not been about the case, or what had happened with Shawn. It had just been a chat about shared musical tastes, how they both had come to choose their respective careers… random, interesting things. It had been good to talk to another adult as well.

Shawn had kept to the sofa, dividing his time between sorting through the odd collection of items his father had kept and eating. Well, Turner thought, eating some and sneaking titbits to Mindy. Waving farewell to Emma Turner thought seriously about maybe later asking her out for that dinner date. Not while Shawn was still struggling and adjusting naturally but maybe, one day.

Dumping the plates in the sink to wash later he went and sat beside Shawn, picking up the photograph of Chet holding a baby Shawn from the coffee table.

_Wow. Shawn must have just been born when that was taken. He's tiny! At least Chet had been there for the birth. Just a pity he couldn't have stayed more the rest of the kid's life._

"Its a good photo Shawn." Turner said, returning the picture to the table. "Your Dad must have been pretty much the first person to hold you when you came into the world."

Shawn gave a small smile. "Yeah. He used to say he was scared to hold me because I was so little and wriggly he might've dropped me. And look." Shawn pushed one pile of photographs across the coffee table. "School photos. Every one. Dad would moan like heck about the price of having to buy one. He'd say -" Shawn deepened his voice into his eerily accurate Chet impression. "Why'd I need to buy a photo of you Shawnie, I can see what you look like."

Looking up at Turner Shawn gave a wide, genuine smile. "But see. He still did, and kept each one. Okay, so it isn't like the Matthews who have all the big portraits framed over the fireplace and update them each year. He could only buy the small one. But they're all here." He fanned out the photographs like a card dealer. It was a Shawn time line.

_Hunter, you were a cute kid from get-go. And I look at the innocent face in the first photo and wonder how anyone could have ever forgotten to feed you, care for you or leave a fading bruise on you. _

"Ohoh, Shawn, check out this one. You with your butt out."

Shawn grinned as Turner fished another Polaroid out from the pile. "Hey, I'm what? One or something? I think babies are allowed to lay on rugs with their butts out." He suddenly frowned, his happy mood slipping away. "Huh. There ain't any of Mom with me." Shawn pushed the pictures into a pile. "Me on my bike, me in the sink…"

"Maybe she was the one taking the pictures." Turner offered.

"Yeah, maybe." Shawn stared downwards at the small heap before him. "And maybe she was having one of her moments when she'd take off and leave us." he ended bitterly.

"Shawn, you had nothing to do with whatever reasons your Mom had for leaving." Turner put his hand on Shawn's tensed shoulder. "She had her own issues that made her act as she did. If anything I would say you were the reason she came back each time."

"Not each time." Shawn looked across at Turner, his hurt obvious. "She hasn't come back this time."

There was nothing Turner could think of to respond to that. Virna had left and her letters to Shawn had stopped long ago. It was horrible and unfair and it was just another added burden on an adolescent who had become the unwitting pawn in the maelstrom of his parent's problems. Between Chet's drinking and Virna's neurosis, left to fend for himself far too often, the only legacy Shawn had been left was a few oddments on a coffee table and a whole lot of emotional baggage.


End file.
